


Getting Involved

by cannulakid



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Mafiatale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Mobtale (Undertale), And secondly to my mother, And thirdly to any poor soul that decides to read this, Angst, Chara (Undertale) Is Their Own Warning, Chara is 25, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Frisk is 20, I'd firstly like to apologise to God, Mafia AU, Mob AU, Mobtale - Freeform, Sans is a bit of a sleazebag, Slow Burn, Soul Sex, but a nice one, but for now just know that violence may or may not be coming, but sleaze!soft sans is now how I am describing that man, but this might be one of them, i am very new to this fandom i don't know what all the sanses are, just for reference, listen I got into undertale so late and now I have to play catch up, mafiatale, might also have to add a warning about violence, smut is gonna start at chapter 10, some hurt/comfort elements?, this came from a comment i got
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannulakid/pseuds/cannulakid
Summary: When Frisk moved out, her father made one request of her: “Don’t get involved in the mobs. They’re dangerous, everybody involved with them is dangerous. Trust me.”Unfortunately, it's difficult to avoid getting involved when your place of work regularly hosts mobsters from all over the city.
Relationships: Frisk & Sans (Undertale), Frisk/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 111
Kudos: 125





	1. Business as Usual

The city is dark, and Frisk is still working. The bar is filled with monsters and mobsters. Well, the monsters are the mobsters, at least most of them are. It’s popular for them, because the boss doesn’t listen in too close. Still, Grillby isn’t so bad. He’s not directly affiliated with anybody in particular, but the Bones control the area so he’s got to buddy up to them, keep them on his side. She isn’t sure what they’d do if he didn’t keep himself sweet with them, but based on the rest of Ebott City, it wouldn’t be anything good. To keep them sweet, he lets them meet up in his bar after hours, turns a blind eye to their deals, and keeps a load of their shit in his storage. Nothing too direct, just enough that they trust him.

Frisk tries to keep out of it, she doesn’t care much for the mob life. She just wants to do her job, get her money, and then go home and pay her bills.

It’s getting late now, and she’s about to get off her shift. She’s been cleaning up for the last half hour, avoiding the remaining monsters as best as she can. The stragglers usually try something with her. Not that Grillby lets them, it would be bad for business if she quit. She’s a _selling point_ to them – a human girl working in a nearly entirely monster populated district. She’s almost half of the attraction to this place, or she would be if the food wasn’t so damn good. She certainly doesn’t dislike most of the patrons, but the ones that stay late are usually affiliated to a mob in some way. They aren’t kind to her, they must see her as some kind of object like a doll. They pinch her ass, call her pet names that she _hates_ and proposition her approximately every night she works. It drives her crazy, but Grillby pays well and does his best to protect her from them as best as he can. She’s only been working there a couple weeks, but Grillby’s starting to feel more and more like family every day. He’s like a big brother to her now.

Walking home this late is dangerous, but Frisk usually gets the bus. Not that it’s _much_ safer, but it’s unlikely that somebody would hold up a bus this late. There won’t be anybody with any kind of big money on it, and it won’t produce the intended fear factor since four people dead isn’t much compared to what could be achieved by holding up an establishment.

“You been enjoying it so far?” Grillby’s voice is steady, somewhat soothing to Frisk. He looks after her, even though he doesn’t quite understand humans. He’s cleaning glasses, like he always does.

Frisk shrugs, lighting up a cigarette. It sure is a living. Not that she wholly dislikes it. The monsters are interesting and she learns a little more about their culture every day, she just wishes the whole thing wasn’t so wrapped up in mob business. She doesn’t voice this though, instead smiling at Grillby and nodding.

“Better than my last job. You pay double what my last boss paid me, and you don’t make me act all sweet to the jackasses that try and hit on me. Well, unless they’re important, but the big guys aren’t in here often.”

Grillby looks uncomfortable, like he’s thinking of something unpleasant. Frisk is getting the feeling he’s about to break some bad news to her.

“I’m gonna need you to work late again tomorrow. Got a meeting here after hours, and our patrons are gonna want somebody waitin’ on ‘em.” He keeps cleaning glasses. “It’s the big guys.”

Frisk nods. She’s got that uneasy feeling that remind her of the time her dad first warned her about the mobs. How she shouldn’t get involved with them. She’s reminded of her brother – he got involved with some gang a few years ago and she hasn’t seen him since. He’s either running about some other part of the city, or he’s been killed. Nobody’s come for her yet, so Frisk likes to believe that he’s at least alive somewhere.

She’ll have to figure out a different way home, but she can’t say no. This is quite frankly the best paying job she’s ever had, and she’s not about to risk it.

“That’s fine, the walk home isn’t that bad. Only a couple miles,” Frisk forces a smile.

This isn’t getting involved, just doing her job, right?

Checking the clock, the bus should be here soon, so Frisk gets up and gives Grillby a wave. He waves back, the air settling a bit.

“See ya tomorrow, human. Thanks for covering at short notice, I’ll be paying you overtime for it.”

Frisk is pretty sure Grillby knows she wants no part in dealing with the mob. Still, he knows she’s his most popular waitress for a reason. She’s sweet to the customers most of the time, and quick at getting her job done. She just wants to work her shift and then go home. She can’t imagine why anybody would want to get involved, though. Then again, violence has never really been her deal.

The bus pulls up, and Frisk sits near the back. Not right at the back, just far back enough that she can see everything that’s going on in front of her. Right now, it’s not much, admittedly. Even though she knows the faces of all the regulars that take the last bus out of here, she likes to keep on her toes. She doesn’t want to get wrapped up in anything if she can help it, and being able to see everything means that she’s got a better chance of getting out if something starts breaking out.

It’s so dark out that Frisk can barely see anything out of the window. Lights blur past, mostly from some less than upstanding establishments. Not that she judges them, everybody has their vices after all. Or, sometimes people just want to socialise. She’s only on the bus for fifteen minutes, but the walk home tomorrow is going to take a couple of hours. Especially if she’s tired. She isn’t looking forward to it, but as long as she keeps out of the Bones’ business then she’s pretty sure she won’t be getting into any trouble.

When she gets back to her apartment, Frisk looks around. She checks the cupboards, but there’s not much to eat. She hasn’t had the time to go out for groceries recently, between working late and sleeping in. Not that she’s a good cook to begin with, she can’t even begin to rival her mother. It’s not that bad though, Grillby gives her a meal every shift when she’s on her break. Anyway, rent goes out tomorrow, so she’s had to save all the cash she can. Counting it out, she’s got enough and some left over. Right into the savings, maybe if she can save up enough she’ll be able to move to a nicer part of the city – maybe somewhere less dangerous too. That would be expensive, but if she can get a daytime job, she might be able to get the cash together. For now, it’s late. She’s tired, and her feet hurt from standing all night. Bed sounds good right about now, but a bath is in order first.

The bath is drawn as hot as Frisk can get it, which isn’t exactly scalding, but it’s warm enough to relax Frisk’s muscles just a bit. Sinking into it feels good, like every part of her is melting – but in a good way. It’s enough to calm her nerves a little.

_“Don’t get involved in the mobs. They’re dangerous, everybody involved with them is dangerous. Trust me.”_

That was what her father said to her the day she moved out. She used to call them daily, but recently they’ve stopped picking up the telephone. She hasn’t had the time to go across the city to see them for a few weeks. Maybe she’ll go tomorrow, before her shift starts.

The warm water washes over her skin. The day’s sweat washes away from her, being replaced with the soft smell of roses from her soap. As the bath cools down, and she goes to bed, she tries to stay optimistic. She’s scared of the Bones, but she’s not going to let them see that. She hopes they’re less sleazy than the other monsters she’s had to serve so far, but she doubts it. They can’t be that much worse than the other types she’s had to deal with. Maybe they’ll be so wrapped up in her business that they won't have time to pay her any mind.

Gunshots echo in the distance, and she covers her ears with her pillow. It’s not perfect, but it muffles the sound. Hopefully she’ll get some sleep soon.


	2. of Telephones and Bus Rides

It’s eight in the morning. Frisk woke up about half an hour ago, unable to stay asleep over the sirens and gunshots. She’s lucky enough that she doesn’t have to pay a protection fee in her building like many others do, most likely because the apartment is a few blocks away from where shootouts happened most of the time. Sure, it’s a shitty apartment and the heating barely works, but at least it’s cheap. In comparison to other places, maybe not, but the lack of protection fee brings the total cost way down.

Despite not being tired, it’s difficult to find the will to get up. Still, she’s got to get up if she wants to go see her parents before her shift starts. It’ll take her an hour to get there between walking and the long bus. Sure, it has to go through multiple neighbourhoods but it’s still a pain. There’s also the detour via the office so she can actually pay her rent, which means it’ll probably take even longer if there’s a line of people. There usually isn’t at this hour, since most everybody’s going to be in work by the time she gets there. She feels kind of lucky that she works evenings, she’s got more time in the day to do other things. Not that she usually does anything during the day. Before now, she hasn’t really had the disposable income to afford anything, and most of her extra money now should be going into savings for the future. Sure, she doesn’t get home until it’s way past dark, but she’s got to count her blessings. At least the sirens have stopped now.

There’s nothing for breakfast in the kitchen. Not that she usually eats breakfast. The schedule is usually to roll out of bed sometime in the afternoon, grab a sandwich on the way to work, eat during her break, rinse and repeat. Only eating two meals a day does wonders for the wallet, especially if one of those meals is free.

She picks out a dress to wear, nothing fancy. Not that she has anything particularly fancy, where would she wear it? The dress comes to just below her knees and is a plain pale blue colour, but she feels good in it and it’s comfortable. She’s pretty sure her mother got it for her when she moved out, but she’s worn it so many times that it feels like she’s had it forever. Actually, it might have been her mother’s once. Either way, it’s casual enough to be comfortable, and nice enough to not feel like a slob.

Rent money, keys, cigarettes, wallet, matches, purse. That’s everything.

Heading out the door, the hall is quiet. Everybody must have already gone to work, or taken the kids to school. There aren’t that many kids in the building, but enough that it would feel quiet were they to leave. It’s half eight now now, so she’s got exactly twenty eight minutes to pay rent and get the bus. That’s not so bad, the office is only a couple of blocks away and the bus stop is right next to it.

The sun feels nice on Frisk’s skin. She’s rarely out and about this early in the day, so the morning air is just cool enough to feel refreshing. The streets are less busy than usual, probably because of the firefight last night. She doesn’t get why everybody’s so scared, this happens at least once a month, and it didn’t even sound like it was in this district. Maybe she’s just too used to it by now, but growing up here means that you get used to a certain level of violence. She remembers being a kid and being scared of the gunshots outside, but her brother would always comfort her when her parents were working late. She’s probably just numb to it at this point, she’s started seeing the violence as a nuisance more than anything, something to keep her awake after a long shift. She hates that people die so often here, but there’s nothing she can do about it besides keep her nose out of where it doesn’t belong, and hope that she can get out of the city one day. Maybe she’d go to the underground; the monsters down there seem peaceful. They might find a human moving in jarring, but surely it couldn’t be worse than here.

The rent office is the same as every month. The line isn’t too long, but the paperwork still takes more time than she’d like. She’s filled it out more times than she can count (actually, that’s not true. She’s been living in the apartment for two years and four months, so this is the twenty-eighth time she’s filled it out, she’s just being dramatic), and she’s gotten quicker at it. She barely has to look at it anymore, she knows where all of her details go. Name, building, apartment number, telephone number, amount paid. It feels like it gets shorter every time, but she’s just memorised all the details. She hands the envelope over to the neatly dressed secretary on the other side of the desk. Of course, the money will eventually find its way to one of the mobs. She doesn’t know which one it is since her district is always being exchanged between dons, but the rent doesn’t seem to change much – it went up fifty dollars last year, maybe that’s when it exchanged hands last. It’s almost like nobody really wants it, but she’s not complaining.

Twelve minutes until the bus, according to the clock on the wall. God, she needs to get a watch sometime. Waiting for the bus, she lights up a cigarette. It’s apparently not ladylike to smoke, but everybody does it anyway. It calms the nerves, and she’s already begun to get a headache. She’ll have to buy more before her shift, she’s only got a few left in this pack.

The bus comes soon enough, it’s pretty full. People running late for work, or that start at nine and live close by. Mostly men in suits and women in the kind of smart-casual dress you only wear if you’re a secretary, complete with the glasses on chains and light lipstick. She doesn’t envy them, paperwork has always been excessively boring to her. Her job might not be in the nicest establishment in town, but she’s grateful to Grillby for the good pay, and she probably has way more fun talking to customers than any of the well-dressed people on the bus.

It feels like the bus goes through a hundred different neighbourhoods, all of varying social standing. In the daytime, you probably wouldn’t realise that half of these places are all but entirely owned by gangs. In some of the nicer areas, there’s parking lots full of fancy cars, and stores selling all different kinds of foods Frisk’s never gotten the chance to try. Maybe she’ll try them out on the next time she gets an evening off, try and snag a date with somebody or something.

She’s never really been one for dating, since she’s always working, but maybe seeing her folks will give her a new outlook on life. She’s not rushing for it though. It’ll happen when it happens, she’s still young. Her mom always wanted to be a grandmother, but she’s not sure kids are for her. She’s not selfish by any means, but this is no place to raise a child. Not that she resents her parents, they did their best with what they had, she’d just rather avoid having children for now. Or forever. Honestly, she’s never really connected with children much or had that motherly instinct she was always told she’d grow into.

Some of the districts the bus goes through look worse for wear than others. In the nicer places, the well-dressed folks get off to go to their well-paying jobs. This one in particular is run down, and looks nearly lawless. She keeps her purse close to her, just in case. More than anything, it’s sad to see what these neighbourhoods have become over the years of violence and financial insecurity. There’s prostitutes roaming the streets in broad daylight, junkies shooting up in the park, and besides that the streets are barren. Closed down mom-and-pop restaurants, boarded up stores, smashed glass everywhere. Shotgun shells litter the street. Can’t tell when they’re from, they just seem to pile up until somebody takes them away. Frisk hopes that it can get better one day.

Forty minutes pass, and she’s getting off the bus three blocks away from the house she grew up in. She hasn’t missed this place, but least it’s daytime, the Asgores probably wouldn’t kidnap somebody in broad daylight. Especially not somebody that doesn’t live here, or hasn’t wronged them in any way. Walking down the sidewalk, she barely recognises anybody anymore. It’s only been a couple years, but people change fast. Childhood friends either moved out, joined gangs, or hole themselves up at home waiting for better. Her favourite toy store shut down a while back apparently, the storefront all smashed glass and boards. She feels out of place, even though she used to call here home. It doesn’t feel like it anymore, and she’s not sure it ever did. You can’t really call a blasted out street a home, even if you’ve lived there your whole life.

Frisk turns left, right, then straight ahead. She’s looking at her parents’ house, but something feels wrong. The mailbox is full to the brim, the lights are out. It’s not like her parents to leave mail unread, or leave bills piled up like that. Maybe they’ve just been busy, or maybe they took a vacation.

She knocks on the door, and waits. Nobody comes.

“Mom? Dad? It’s Frisk!” She calls through an open window.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she peeks through the curtains. There’s nobody there. They must just be at work, or out getting groceries. She’s got a few more hours until she needs to get back. Staying can’t hurt.

She waits a little longer. The morning turns into afternoon. She begins to look through their mail. Bills, junk mail, and a handwritten letter. No return address. It’s her parents’ mail, they probably wouldn’t mind her looking.

_32 nd, Monday, 0300._

Frisk pockets the letter, there’s no date on it but she’s sure it’s already been there a few days. It’s Saturday now. Maybe she’ll go to thirty-second after her shift on Sunday. Walking back to the bus stop, she gets the feeling she’s being watched. She _has_ been standing there for a long time, and she did just look through somebody else’s mailbox. It’s probably just a neighbour that doesn’t recognise her anymore, she’s changed since moving out. She still feels uneasy.

On the bus home, she reads the letter again. She recognises the handwriting; it looks a little like hers, just more choppy. She hopes it doesn’t mean anything bad.


	3. Enter: The Bones

Frisk calls her parents thirty times when she gets home. They don’t pick up a single time. It’s three in the afternoon, and she still hasn’t gone grocery shopping. She calls three more times before giving up, leaving the receiver on the hook.

She’s got two and a half hours before she needs to go get the bus for work. She walks to the store, worried about what else the day holds for her. She has no idea what happened to her parents. It must be mob-related, but as far as she knows, her parents never got involved with anything like that. Maybe it’s got something to do with her brother. It’s been years since he had anything to do with them though, so maybe something else. She hopes for their safety.

It’s a nice day out, but she still feels like her whole body is freezing. The grocery store is depressing at best, rent might stay cheap but food keeps getting more expensive. Nothing enters or leaves the city without a mob knowing about it, and they keep all the best food for themselves anyway. The store shelves seem to be getting barer each time she comes in. She’ll grab what she can – some bread, some meat. She’d like to get fruit, but even that’s becoming scarce since crops are drying out.

_Snap out of it. You need to at least look happy for your shift._

At the counter, she picks up another pack of cigarettes. At least those stay the same price. She’d rather have cigarettes than buy food anyway, she barely eats at home these days since Grillby’s been so intent on feeding her every day. Maybe he thinks she’s malnourished or something. She’s still grateful for his concern.

Walking home, she smokes the last of her original pack, save one. Three cigarettes for now, one for the walk to the bus for her shift and then she’ll throw away the empty carton. At least she’s got enough matches to last.

The groceries get put away, and for the first time in a few weeks she makes herself something to eat. It’s nothing fancy, just a coffee and a sandwich, but it’s something. It doesn’t make her feel any better. She can’t even manage to eat half the sandwich. Maybe a bath would help? Two baths in two days might be wasteful, but she needs something to cheer her up before her shift.

She doesn’t let the bath run too hot this time, it’s barely lukewarm when she gets in. As long as she doesn’t make a habit of this, the water bill won’t be too bad. Lounging in the bath doesn’t feel too bad, but the rose scented soap makes her melancholic. It reminds her of this expensive soap her father gets her mother for her birthday every year. One bar lasts half a year, then she gets another for Christmas. It’s the one luxury she affords herself. This soap almost definitely isn’t made with real roses though, just a cheap echo of them. Still, Frisk likes it. She might smell cheap, but she’d rather smell cheap than of sweat.

The bath doesn’t last too long, or she’ll fall asleep. It would be a bad look to miss a shift this important to Grillby, and she doesn’t want to let him down. She grabs a clean uniform from the dresser once she’s dried off, tying her hair back. It’s not the worst uniform she’s ever had to wear, at least it isn’t pink like the last place she worked. The pale orange colour doesn’t actually look too bad on her, a white apron over the top of it, with plain brown work shoes. If the dress didn’t have the Grillby’s logo on it, she might even consider wearing it day-to-day.

It’s almost like Grillby can tell she’s not feeling good when she gets in. He offers a sympathetic smile to her as she goes to put her purse and jacket in the break room. Then it’s just the same shift she does every night, right? If she treats this shift the same, she might not be so intimidated by the Bones later.

It’s quieter than usual tonight. She’s not sure why, but she feels like something big is coming. There’s less to do than normal, so she has more time to think about everything. Her parents, the Bones, the walk home. The thoughts progress over the course of the shift from wondering what will happen, to wondering if the Bones know anything. Maybe if she acts sweet to them, she’ll hear something. Maybe she’ll hear something about her brother. Maybe this was the gang he got involved with. She’s not sure.

She’s the only waitress working tonight, so even though there’s a distinct lack of people, she’s still busy most of the time. Just not as busy as usual. She’s able to take a couple more breaks, grab a couple more sodas. She doesn’t have time to sit down with her burger, but she’s still fed like usual. Maybe Grillby wanted to keep staff thin tonight so he doesn’t have to explain shit to the other girls. Or maybe he thinks having a human around will keep the Bones sweet with him. It doesn’t really matter, she’d probably have to deal with them eventually.

Eleven rolls around, and the usual stragglers filter themselves out while Grillby all but shoos them with a broom. He’s a good boss, even though he’s putting her in this situation. It’s still good money. If she works here for another year, she should have enough to afford a deposit on a nicer apartment and a couple months’ rent. She’d move now, but how would her parents find her if they ever came back?

“Hey, go take a break. They’ll be here soon, and I want you feeling alright for it. You want a coffee?” Grillby has stopped drying glasses and turned on the coffee machine before she can answer. Guess a coffee couldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t do much to calm her nerves, but might keep her awake enough to power through them.

Frisk sips the hot coffee in the break room, waiting for Grillby’s word. It feels like an eternity before he calls her, and she’s been holding onto the empty cup for at least five minutes when he pokes his head in.

Three brothers, three skeletons. That much, she was expecting. However, one of them has a face that looks like it’s melted, one of them must be about seven feet tall, and the other is just a couple inches taller than her. They’re all wearing suits, and they’re all looking _very serious,_ except for the tallest one who just looks like he’s happy to be here. Must be the youngest.

“Evenin’ fellas, what can I get for ya? Drinks, cigarettes?” Frisk is doing her best to seem confident, like this is just business as usual. She’s not sure it’s working.

The tall one is the first to speak up.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LIKE SOME CHERRY SODA, TINY HUMAN LADY.”

It’s like he’s never heard of an inside voice before. Still, he doesn’t seem _too_ threatening. The way he addresses her is almost endearing.

“Me ‘n Wings’ll have whiskey, dollface.” The shortest one speaks in a low voice, sounds almost bored, “And a cigarette for me, ‘s long as you’re the one lightin’ it.”

The laugh that exits his throat (?) is deep, and unnerving. She can already tell he’s a sleaze. He’s also staring right through her. Trying to seem confident probably isn’t working. Still, she gives the skeleton a cigarette, and lights it with a match for him before disappearing to acquire the drinks they asked for.

“SANS, DO YOU HAVE TO BLOW SMOKE IN MY FACE? I DIDN’T EVEN THINK YOU HAD LUNGS!”

The tall one has a point, but they must breathe in _some_ way. Frisk knows nothing about the biology of this though, and she can barely think about it with the shorter one still _staring right at_ _her_.

“I might not but the dame is already _breathtaking_ , so I figured I’d help her out.”

Yeah, total sleaze. At least it’s better than sugartits, though.

She brings the drinks over for the three of them, and gives her best shot at a smile to them. She’s sure she isn’t pulling off the confident act though, with ‘Sans’ still staring her down.

“Just lemme know if you need anything else tonight, alright? I’ll come to check on y’all again in a little while.”

“I’m sure we’re just _rosy_ over here for now, dollface.” Sans winks at her. She thinks. She’s not sure, but one of his eyes/lights/whatever just went black for a second.

She tries to pull off as sickly sweet a smile as she can before making a swift exit. Wait, was he _smelling her?_

Frisk is staring at the clock. She’ll wait fifteen minutes before coming out to check on them again. Enough time to leisurely smoke a cigarette. Until then, she’s basically got her ear pressed up at the door, trying to make out any bits of conversation she can. She can only hear the tall one talking right now, his voice is almost piercingly loud. This is why they wanted the diner all to themselves, huh?

“I AM STILL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE IDEA OF RESIDENTS PAYING A PROTECTION FEE, SIR. SURELY, NOT CHARGING THEM PUTS THEM ON OUR SIDE? IF WE CAN GET THEM ON OUR SIDE, THEN THEY ARE MORE LIKELY TO SPREAD THE WORD TO THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILIES, AND IT WILL BE EASIER FOR US TO TAKE A MORE DESIREABLE DISTRICT.”

She’s about to go out and check on them, when Grillby nearly bashes her with the door to come and ask her to grab one of the boxes in the back. He says nothing else to her, but she knows he saw her trying to listen in.

“It’s the one labelled ‘buns’, okay?” It feels like he’s trying to encourage her without saying anything, since the brothers can probably hear him. A warm hand pats her on her shoulder, and she feels a little better.

There’s a ton of boxes in the back, most of them labelled with suspiciously mundane things. Patties, pickles, juice. None of this is refrigerated though, so Frisk knows this is all Bones business. The one labelled ‘buns’ is right at the back, and is deceivingly heavy. Nothing she can’t carry though, it’s not like it’s far back to the dining room. She puts it down on the ground next to the three brothers.

“Any more drinks? Another cigarette?” Frisk hates being stared at, but it’s even creepier when the guy staring at you doesn’t even have eyes.

“Same again, dollface.” Sans’ smile is smug, and she wants to scream at him. Even Grillby can’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him, it’s all in the business.

Frisk gets a cigarette from her dress pocket and a match, and lights the cigarette up for Sans just the same. They go back to their conversation, and she can hear more this time.

“Asgore’s been taking more people that can’t pay their rent this quarter. It seems he’s worried about turf war in his parts. It looks like his crown is slipping. Here, we have an opportunity to allow the Rats and the Banners to shoot each other out of it, and strike when the ground is still wet. However, we must be cautious, since Asgore has more men and more guns than we do currently. If we play our cards right, however, it’s possible we can free the land he’s been ruling.” The one with the melted face (Wings?) is talking. His voice is even deeper than Sans’, and more imposing too. He’s also the only one that hasn’t directly spoken to Frisk this entire time.

Wait, Asgore’s been taking people? Does that include her parents? She’s knows their home is on his turf, she grew up _terrified_ of him. She gets the drinks anyway. Two whiskeys, one cherry soda. Huh, the _Great Papyrus_ isn’t touching booze. That’s weird for a mob-man. Is he too young? Not that anything like that matters in a place like this, and to people like them. Maybe it’s out of principle. His aim might be sharper when he’s sober.

She notes that despite the sleazy attitude, Sans hasn’t touched her this whole time. Not even when she bent down to give the three their box of whatever. Maybe he is less sleazy than the others that come in here. Or, maybe he calls every woman he meets dollface.

“THANK YOU, TINY HUMAN LADY. NEXT TIME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LIKE A DIFFERENT FLAVOUR OF SODA. THE REGULAR KIND.”

Frisk almost laughs at him. She’s decided his childlike nature is at least somewhat endearing. She smiles, and nods. Is she enjoying this?

“Yeah, of course Sir.”

Maybe her smile is a little more genuine to the tall one, he seems the kindest. She can’t tell much about Wings, and she already knows Sans is a sleazebag. Papyrus seems the most innocent out of the three of them. He’s probably a murderer, but at least he’s a nice one, as they go.


	4. Closing Shift

Frisk checks the clock in the break room. It’s nearly one in the morning when Grillby tells her to bid farewell to their ‘esteemed guests’. She’s served them a dozen whiskeys and half a dozen sodas tonight. By the time she gets out there, they have another guy in (looks like a bipedal dog) taking their box for them. She smiles, even though she’s exhausted.

“Goodnight, fellas. Come again whenever you need to.” The peppy act is wearing down on her, she’s almost certain she doesn’t pull it off this time.

Wings just nods at her. Papyrus has gotten halfway through bidding her goodnight when Sans asks her for one last cigarette. She obliges, still creeped out by how he stares straight through her whenever she’s in his presence. It’s like he’s sizing her up to eat or something. As they leave, he says something to Grillby about putting it on his tab. Frisk isn’t really sure, she’s too focused on getting home.

“Take tomorrow off. You look tired.” Grillby’s monotone voice is almost a blessing after the hours of flirting and yelling she’s dealt with, but she nods and thanks him.

Maybe she should move closer to Grillby’s, if this is going to become a more regular occurrence. The walk home is going to take at least two hours, and it’s pitch black out. Nothing she can complain about though, Grillby did make good on his promise of overtime, which she found out just as he was handing her the weeks’ pay. More than double her regular rate for the extra three hours she spent here. Not bad, maybe it’ll be worth the walk home.

She’s barely left the restaurant when Papyrus is yelling at her to get in the car with them.

“GRILLBY HAS INFORMED US THAT YOU LIVE TOO FAR AWAY TO WALK AND IT WOULD BE UNGENTLEMANLY FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS TO ALLOW A TINY HUMAN LADY LIKE YOURSELF TO WALK HOME AT THIS HOUR.”

She doesn’t even have time to respond before Sans is pulling her into the back seat. It’s a fancy car, long and black. She’s seen cars like this around the city a hundred times, but she’s never actually been _in_ one. The seating is leather, and is far more comfortable than any bus she’s ever been on.

Letting three mobsters drive her home isn’t getting involved, right?

She’s sat on the right, pushed up against Sans. He’s surprisingly… soft? Frisk assumed that, being a skeleton, every bone would jut into her leg uncomfortably, but it feels no different than sitting next to any fairly skinny human. It’s Papyrus that’s taking up most of the space anyway, she’s pretty sure his hips are two foot wide. Also surprising is that he’s keeping his hands to himself. Apparently even when he’s six drinks down, he’s still at least a gentlemanly sleazebag.

“ACTUALLY, TINY HUMAN LADY, I MUST INFORM YOU IT WAS SANS’ IDEA FOR US TO ESCORT YOU HOME. MY BROTHER IS SO THOUGHTFUL, ISN’T HE?”

An uncomfortable laugh leaves her lips. Of course it was his idea. Who else?

“Aw, c’mon dollface, don’t be like that. I can tell you’re _bone tired_ , and who knows how far you’d have to walk to get home?” Sans elbows her in the side, and is cracking up at his own joke. Papyrus is groaning. He must pull these a lot.

“Forty-fifth street. About 5 miles out of here.” Frisk is trying to sound sharp, but it just comes out at tired. He’s right, she’s exhausted.

“See? Too far for a waterproof face like yours to walk home in a town like this.” Sans’ words almost feel comforting, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still staring at her.

Frisk just nods, and stared out of the window. She feels like she’s being watched, but it’s probably just Sans. At least he isn’t threatening her. Besides, he’s surprisingly warm. Warmer than she thought he’d be. It’s kind of nice, and she’s already half asleep by the time they’ve pulled up outside her apartment. She’s jolted awake by the car braking, Sans lightly shaking her, and Papyrus wishing her goodnight for real this time.

“GOODNIGHT, TINY HUMAN LADY. WE WILL SEE YOU AGAIN SOON, I AM SURE. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO WALK SO FAR HOME IN THE FUTURE.” He’s loud enough that he would work fantastically as an alarm clock.

Wings just nods at her, and Sans has a smirk on his face.

“G’night dollface, see you around.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion setting in, but Frisk takes just a little longer than she wanted to grabbing her purse and getting out of the car,

“Goodnight fellas. Thanks for the ride.” She’s basically yawning as she exits the car, and drags herself up to her apartment.

It’s late, but she decides to try her parents’ house one more time before going to sleep. The telephone rings, and rings, and she’s pretty sure nobody’s picking up.

“Do not call this number again. Do not come here again. You and your skeletons have no business here.”

She doesn’t recognise the voice, and before she can reply the receiver has gone dead. _Her_ skeletons? She just works in a bar in one of their districts! What about her parents?

Frisk stands there, shocked for a few moments. She’s too tired to keep standing there, though. The adrenaline is already wearing off, and it’s been a really long day. She checks the locks again, and again, and again. She’s sure it’s locked tight enough. She’s on the third floor. There’s no way somebody could break in, right?

She’s scared, it’s late, but she’s really grateful to the Bones for giving her a ride home. She’ll have to thank them properly sometime. Sleep is creeping in, she can’t fight it anymore. One last thought flashes through her mind before the sleep finally takes her.

_This isn’t getting involved, is it?_


	5. Who Ya Gonna Call?

It’s early afternoon when Frisk eventually wakes up. She’s in her own bed, in her own apartment. Nothing happened to her overnight. Now she’s more lucid and in control of her thoughts, she sits up and weighs everything up. Honestly, she has more questions than answers.

  1. _Where are my parents?_
  2. _Who picked up the telephone?_
  3. _How did they know I knew the Bones?_
  4. _Should I call somebody?_



In terms of answers, she doesn’t really have any. The only shred of a detail she’s got is the note she found in her parents’ mailbox. Thirty second street, three in the morning. Knowing that somebody’s been watching her enough to know she knows the Bones doesn’t exactly fill her with unbridled optimism. Hell, she barely feels like she can leave the house. It’s probably good that she doesn’t have work today, she feels like even going on the bus is dangerous right now.

She entertains calling the cops for a bit, but she knows they won’t do any good. Most of them are in the pockets of some mob, and she isn’t thrilled to find out which one. She barely has a life outside of work, so she doesn’t have any friends to call, unless you count Grillby.

Wait, she could call Grillby.

She runs out to her telephone immediately, she’s still in her nightgown but who’s there to see her? Dialling the number feels like it takes forever, waiting for him to pick up feels like it takes even longer.

“Good afternoon, this is Grillby’s. Grillby speaking. Who’s talking?” Grillby’s voice takes Frisk a million miles away from whoever she heard last night on the phone.

“Grillby? I have a favour to ask. Or, a question. Oh, it’s Frisk,” She’s pretty sure he already knows, but she just wants to be certain. When she receives nothing but silence as a response, she continues, “I have a problem. A big one. You remember how I got a ride home last night with the Bones? Well, I tried to call my parents after I got home since they haven’t been picking up for a few days and I think I got threatened. Somebody told me not to call again, and they knew I know the Bones. You’re a guy that can keep a secret, and a guy that knows something about this deal. What can I do?”

Still silence. Frisk can hear the busy diner in the distance. She’s probably picked a really bad time to call and it’s probably really screwing with Grillby’s day. She feels bad, but not as bad as she feels terrified.

“I’ll make some calls. I’m sorry, Frisk. You won’t like what I’m doing, but you’re my favourite human employee.” He sounds _somber._

“I’m your only human employee, Grillby, what are you-“

The line’s dead. Nothing but silence coming out of the other end of the telephone. What is she meant to do?

She puts the receiver back on the hook, and sits down on the small couch. She’s still in her nightgown. She can’t find the energy to care.

She didn’t even realise she fell asleep when she hears movement. Opening her eyes, she smells cigarettes. Her vision is hazy for a few moments, still not used to being awake. Which is when she sees who’s standing in front of her.

“Afternoon, dollface. Are ya not dressed for a _reason_ or were ya too excited to see me again?”

It takes everything in her to not scream. Her hands go to cover herself, but she doesn’t know what exactly there is to cover. There’s nothing showing, she’s certainly not been blessed with anything large enough to spill out from her nightdress, but she still feels indecent.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” It comes out somewhere between a hiss and a scream.

Well, Grillby said she wasn’t going to like it. He wasn’t wrong.

Frisk is certain that her door was locked last night. She rushes up and checks. It’s still locked. This is troubling and confusing, among other things.

“Didn’t know you had so much bite to ya, doll. Gotta be honest with ya, I don’t feel like I’m getting’ that sweet Frisk experience I did last night.” Sans looks nauseatingly smug as he saunters in through her tiny apartment. His eye lights are staring right through her once again.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” She repeats, “Did ya climb in through the window? How did you know which apartment was mine?”

It seems she’s nearly lost the shame she felt when she realised Sans was looking at her practically naked. Now she’s just pissed. He’s holding up a letter with her name and address on it. Right, he looked through her _mail_. Or asked the mailman. Either way, she has no clue how he got in here, and she doesn’t really want to know.

“Need you to pack up your things and get you out of here, you’ve gotten yourself into a rough position little lady. You’ll be stayin’ with me and Pap until this whole thing blows over, but I need answers from ya. Exactly where’s that pretty little nose off yours been to get yourself into this much trouble?” Sans is walking towards her. He’s getting a little too close. She can smell the cigarettes on his breath.

_Fuck. Need a cigarette._

This time, she’s staring right back into his eye sockets. He’s getting closer. She refuses to back away. Her shoulders are squared, and she feels herself breathing a little heavier than usual.

“Something’s happened to my parents. I don’t know what, but it has to have something to do with whoever the fuck picked up the phone last night.” She doesn’t blink.

Sans looks somewhere between shocked and confused. He’s staring at her all funny, right at her chest. Not like how the monsters at Grillby’s do, though. Not that she’s got much of anything to stare at.

“Red, huh?” He’s still getting closer. “Determined, aren’t ya, dollface?”

Frisk looks down, and sees what he’s been staring at. A small, red heart. Not wholly opaque, not wholly transparent, but definitely solid.

“What? Ya look like ya’ve never seen a soul before,” Sans, of all people, is _calm_ while her soul is just sitting there out in the open? She could scream.

He’s reaching his hand out, and Frisk flinches.

“Don’t worry, dollface, I’m not gonna hurt it.”

A small prod to it sends shock through her whole body. She feels like she’s going to pass out. Falling back against the wall, she tries to stable herself. He’s holding it now, just gently, and staring at it.

“Give it back. Or, put it back. Or, whatever, just let go.” Frisk’s breathing becomes heavier, waves of _something_ rolling through her whenever the small red heart so much as moves in Sans’ hand.

He looks disappointed for a moment, before resigning himself and letting go of it. It takes a moment, but it dissipates. She can feel it back where it belongs. Which leaves her with a couple of questions.

  1. _Why did my soul just come out?_
  2. _Why for him?_



Sans provides no answers, and just tells her to get her things together quickly because there’s a car waiting for them downstairs and he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to them. Hell, if anybody sees a human get into a car with a monster it would be scandalous, even more so because this particular monster is one of the Bones. Frisk doesn’t have time to argue, throwing what clothes she has in a bag, with her hygiene products from the bathroom. No time to carefully choose an outfit, she just puts what she wore yesterday on. She doesn’t have time to fit anything else in the bag she’s holding, and Sans tells her not to worry about it. They can buy more clothes.

Frisk is almost dragged to the same car as last night, just significantly less crowded. A monster she recognises as the dog from last night in the drivers’ seat, and Sans all but throwing her into the back. It can’t be a good look, but right now she doesn’t care too much.

_Sorry, Dad. I know I promised. I hope you understand._

One they’re in the car, Frisk feels a little calmer. Still on edge, but it’s not as bad as it was in the house. Sans isn’t pushed as close to her as he was last night, which probably helps. She’s still reeling from seeing her soul just out in the open.

“Hey, Sans. Why did… Y’know?” She doesn’t know how to phrase it. One way it sounds dirty, the other it sounds just plain old strange.

He shrugs. “Beats me, dollface. Shit just happens sometimes, when you feel a load of one emotion that really resonates with ya soul, it can pop out.”

She doesn’t want to go into detail about him holding it, it was ten minutes ago and she still hasn’t quite shaken the feeling. It was strangely intimate, but Sans is the last person she wants that with. Why can’t she just settle down with a nice guy, and get on with a regular life? Are monsters and humans even compatible? Logistically speaking. Frisk can’t think of a single time she’s heard of a monster and a human in a relationship. Is that because of prejudice, or physical incompatibility? She decides to leave that question for now. All she knows is that if she came home with a monster, much less a Bone, her father would see red. He was a very traditional man.

 _Is_ a very traditional man.

Frisk chooses not to ask where they’re going. She’s still too shaken up to really think about it. All she can keep her mind on is that Sans saw her in her nightdress, and she isn’t sure she’ll ever recover from that kind of smear on her character. Sans is looking at her like he won’t tell anybody if she doesn’t. Looking at him closer, his cheekbones are dusted slightly blue. Maybe he’s as embarrassed as she is.

She looks down at her knees. Are her cheeks still red? She still feels hot. She’s only just noticed that she’s shaking, either from fear or from whatever just happened. A bony hand reaches out to her, and squeezes her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, dollface. Me ‘n Pap are gonna keep ya safe. Not about to let anybody mess with ya, no matter how big a game they talk over the phone.” He sounds sure of himself. It helps.

Frisk nods. She wonders what Sans’ soul looks like. If she’s determined, then what’s he?


	6. New Roommates

It turns out, the Bones have quite a large house. Frisk isn’t sure why she’s surprised. Of course they have a house, they have more money than she could even imagine. She’s barely gotten in the door and she can see three floors already, they also presumably have a basement somewhere.

“It’s rude to stare, dollface,” Sans walks in like it’s nothing. To him, it probably is. “Come on, I’ll take ya up to the guest bedroom. It’s yours until we know you’re safe.”

She’s not sure why he’s being so kind, but it probably has something to do with Grillby. She’ll either hug him or punch him next time she sees him. She can’t ponder the options anymore though, since Sans is already leading her up the staircase to the top floor.

The room she’s taken to is probably as big as her entire apartment, furnished beautifully. It seems the Bones have good taste. The biggest bed she’s ever seen is in front of her, four poster, probably antique. The window in this room is huge and lets in more sunlight than she thought possible. She would kill to live somewhere like here. Or, well, put her life in immediate danger. Coincidentally, she still doesn’t know how in danger her life is, but she presumes it’s pretty big for Sans to have appeared in her apartment. Hey, he never explained how he did that.

“This is mine and Pap’s place. Wings doesn’t like bein’ around us much aside from business. He’s still our brother, but he thinks we’re too childish for him. He’d also feel mighty uncomfortable with a lady in the house. His place ain’t far from here, so he’ll be dropping by fairly often, but he’s not gonna catch ya in ya nightgown anytime soon.” Sans is back to his usual self. She still can’t bring herself to hate him though, he’s doing her a massive favour by letting her stay here. “Oh, Grillby told me to tell ya that ya can have the day off work tomorrow too. Once ya’ve unpacked, come down so ya can phone him, I’ve never heard him sound that worried.”

Grillby sure does take care of her. She feels like she was right to call him. She’s also glad, because it means she can check out thirty second street later on, if the Bones will let her out of their sight. Otherwise, she’ll have to get them involved. Maybe they’d know something about it. Might be a good idea to ask them anyway.

Left to her own devices, she doesn’t take long to put her things away. Everything neatly hung up or folded, her lotion and hair products tucked away into the _ensuite_. She feels a little bit like a princess, trapped in a beautiful castle. She still has to work though, so maybe the analogy doesn’t quite add up. She takes a moment to relax. She feels safe here, on the top floor. If somebody does break in, they’ll have to go through Sans and Papyrus first, which she doesn’t doubt would be a horrifying experience. They might both be sweet to her, but she’s sure they’re well adept at murder and violence, like any other mobster. It’s difficult to see them as just mobsters now though, after the kindness they’ve shown her.

She wanders down the staircase to call Grillby. It feels like he’s been waiting for the call because the phone barely rings.

“Grillby’s. Grillby speaking.”

Frisk has never felt more relieved to hear her boss talk in her life.

“Hey, Grillby. I’m with the Bones now, Sans came to get me from my apartment.” Her voice wavers a bit, thinking about what _happened_ in the apartment. She tries not to let it weigh on her. “I could kill you if you didn’t take such good care of me, you know that right?”

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it. But it’s what’s best. They’ll protect you, Frisk. Both of them have taken a shine to ya, be careful or they’ll get sweeter on you than they are on me.” He’s laughing, everything feels fine and normal. Kind of. “I’ll see ya on Tuesday at six, alright? You’ll be escorted to and from here, I’m not having my favourite human employee having somethin’ happen to her. You hear that?”

She laughs too. She’s still his only human employee, but she appreciates the sentiment. “Yeah, Grillby. I’ll see you Tuesday. Thanks for uh, throwing me a _bone_.”

Sans is watching her, chuckling to himself about the joke. God, he’s rubbing off on her.

They say their goodbyes, and Frisk hangs up. The note is still in her pocket, and she wants to ask about that, but there are more pressing matters on her mind. She wants to understand what happened with her soul, Sans seemed like he wasn’t telling her everything before. She walks over to him, sitting on the couch across from him.

“What actually happened with my soul back there? I know you’re leaving parts out. Tell me everything.” She feels the same way as she did back then, sort of. A bit less full of the feeling, but it’s still bubbling within her.

Sans looks troubled by the question, even nervous. His cheeks are turning blue again.

“It’s, uh, complicated. Lotsa emotions, lotsa variables,” He’s skirting around the question. She won’t let him. “Fine, fine. Every human soul has like, a dominant trait. Some people have kindness, patience, whatever. Sure, all humans have all of the traits to an extent, but there’s always one dominant one. That affects the colour. When ya feel that thing, and ya feel it with every fibre of ya being, when somebody ya trust is with ya then sometimes the soul jumps out. Or, sometimes when it’s somebody ya really hate, it shows the bad side of ya trait. Couldn’t tell which ya were feeling for me, which is why I got all quiet back there. Coulda been spite, or determination. Both are the same really, but it’s linked to the emotion. Also, excuse me for sayin’ this, but if ya bein _intimate_ with somebody, it might also jump out. I was pretty sure it wasn’t that, since you screamed at me and ran off.”

Frisk’s face is nearly beetroot red by the time Sans is done explaining. Does she trust him, or hate him? Can it be both? The intimacy thing got her, though. Sure, him touching it felt strangely intimate, but not like how she was taught intimacy felt. Not that she was taught a whole lot, her mother was- _is_ also very traditional about that sort of thing. She can see Sans’ face nearly royal blue too. At least they’re embarrassed together.

“And, why did you touch it?” She wants to crawl into a hole and die asking, but she needs to know the answer.

He shrugs in response.

“Wanted to know if ya trusted me or if ya hated me. When ya feel it, it’s easier to tell.”

“And?” Frisk is still looking at him, waiting for the answer. The silence is nearly deafening, waiting for him to continue. She wants nothing more than to hide her face in a cushion, or with her hands, but this feels like the kind of conversation you’re supposed to maintain eye contact for.

“Well, it was both. Conflicting emotions, all bundled up into that soul. Seemed ya liked me a bit more after I touched it though, maybe because I didn’t hurt ya. Don’t worry, dollface, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” A brief smirk flashes over his face. “Well, not unless ya want me to.”

She spits out a laugh. Still a sleaze.

_This doesn’t feel like not being involved._


	7. Compliance

It takes Frisk a couple of hours to get used to being in the constant presence of Sans. When asked if he had other things to do, he just said that this was what Wings wanted from him today. Has she become their liability? Probably. She can’t bring herself to feel bad about it though.

It takes another while of sitting around with Sans for her to ask.

“Hey, did anything happen on thirty-second last Monday? About three in the morning.”

Sans looks nearly perplexed by the question. “Not that I know of. Why?”

Well, the jig is up. She’s stuck in a house full of criminals, so she might as well use it to her advantage. She pulls out the note, still crumpled in her dress pocket and hands it over to him.

“Found this in my parents’ mailbox when I went over to check on ‘em. House was completely empty. I think it’s from my brother, he got involved with some shit a few years back and I haven’t seen him since.” She looks a little sheepish. She probably should have mentioned having an affiliated brother in the apartment, but it’s not like she’s even seen him since she was a kid. “I haven’t spoken to him since I was still at school, but it looks like his handwriting.”

Maybe that last bit was a cop-out. She’s not too thrilled at the idea of dropping that kind of information on anybody out of the blue, especially not when the only people she’s ever spoken about it with are her parents. No use hiding it though, this is probably the best shot she’s had at figuring everything out she’s ever going to get; it’s not like she’s going to get a chance to ask criminals about criminal affairs so bluntly ever again.

“Nothing’s happened on thirty-second for weeks. You think he means this Monday?” More than anything, he looks intrigued by the note.

Frisk nods. She’s not sure, but if Sans knows that nothing’s happened for weeks then there isn’t much else to assume

“Hey, dollface, what’s that look for? Said I’d keep ya safe, didn’t I? That includes your mobster brother and whoever he’s got behind him. Mind giving me a name? Might have done a deal with him.” His face screams that he might have _hurt_ him at some point. Blood might be thicker than water, and she does love her brother, but she can’t change the fact that he hurt her a lot when he left.

“Chara. Not sure if he’s still going by that, though.” She’s staring intently at him, comforted by the fact that he’s actually being nice.

Honestly, in all her years of hating the mobs indiscriminately, she never for a second considered that any of the people involved might be good. Sure, after this is all over, there’s a very real chance that they’re not going to just let her go; she’ll learn more things about their inner workings, and she doubts that it’s desirable to just have a civilian knowing your business.

Yes, she’s still a civilian. She’s not getting directly involved in their business, just using them to her advantage. Right?

“Alright, I’m on it. You’re coming with?”

He’s phrasing it like a question, but it’s pretty clear she’s not getting a choice. Fair enough, it’s her business anyway. Sans is more like security, in case something goes wrong. Not gang business, just her trying to find her parents.

Yeah, that’s what it is. Security.

“Are you going to tell Wings?” There’s hesitation I her voice. She doesn’t want to get the _real_ big guys involved. Sans she can deal with, Papyrus at a push. Wings in all honesty just kind of creeps her out.

Sans is silent. The way he’s staring is almost chilling. Is he thinking?

Looking at it rationally, there’s no way he can go behind Wings’ back about all of this. Frisk is, after all, just their liability right now. Probably a favour cashed in by Grillby, repayment for his after hours time or the use of his building for holding their contraband. Or a favour he’ll have to repay eventually. Is she just a burden on all of them?

Not that she feels too bad about burdening the Bones. After all, they’re just another mob, taking advantage of the desperate times. They’re violent murderers.

Yet, it’s difficult to feel that way sitting on their couch.

“Look, dollface. If I get any information that could be beneficial to Wings, I can’t lie to him about it. I wanna help ya, but ya have ‘ta meet me halfway. Scratch my back ‘n I’ll scratch yours, got it?” His voice is serious. He’s staring through her again, eye lights dimmed a little.

She can’t do anything but nod. If she wants to get even half the truth, she’s going to have to involve him. If she’s going to involve him, she’s involving the whole mob. He’s still a mobster, no matter how kind he’s been to her, after all.

Apparently, mobsters can be kind. This isn’t something Frisk has ever even thought to entertain before, why would she? The mobsters ruined her home, and her family. Now they’re tearing apart her life. How could Sans be any different to that?

He just nods back, holding out a bony hand. Right. Gotta shake on it, otherwise it isn’t a deal. She doesn’t have much of a choice, but hopefully it won’t come back to bite her in the ass later. Sans wouldn’t let that happen, would he? He might. She chooses not to dwell on it though, just in case she chickens out.

They shake on it, and the deal is done. Now she just has to wait until three, and see what happens.


	8. Hide and Seek

Three can’t come soon enough. Equally, Frisk would like for it to never roll around. A mix between intrigue, excitement, and plain old fear is getting to her. Not that she has much time to think about it, with Papyrus home. The way he’s doting on her and Sans is almost cute. She’s never met a man so motherly in her whole life.

“TINY HUMAN LADY, PLEASE ENJOY THE HUMAN SPAGHETTI I HAVE MADE. IT IS MY OWN SPECIAL RECIPE.”

A homecooked meal? Does he do this every day? Looking at Sans reveals that, yes, he does do this every day. By the look on his face, it’s likely that it’s always spaghetti too. Not that Frisk is complaining, she barely cooks for herself to begin with. When was the last time her evening meal didn’t consist of some kind of take out? Must have been at least three weeks.

The spaghetti is edible. That’s not to say she’s not grateful for it, she probably couldn’t do much better at spaghetti. She can’t remember the last time she ate it, maybe her mom cooked it once a couple of years ago? It’s possible that her palette just isn’t accustomed to food that isn’t under four layers of grease these days. At least it’s got a vegetable in it, she’s pretty sure fries don’t count as nutritious. Papyrus seems incredibly proud of himself, so she can’t bring herself to critique it when he asks how it is.

“It’s great, Papyrus. Thank you.” She’s smiling but she’s really not into it. Sans is staring right through her again, he knows that she’s just saying it to be polite.

Well, she’s nothing if not polite. Aside from the time she swore at Sans. However, that was an outlying case that should not be taken into account in the grand scheme of things. What else was she supposed to do with a strange man in her apartment?

“Hey, how _did_ you get into my apartment? I know I asked, but you didn’t tell me.” Anything to take her mind off the food.

Before Sans can answer, Papyrus is already yelling. Or talking. He only speaks at one volume: deafening.

“SANS USES MAGIC TO DISAPPEAR AND REAPPEAR IN OTHER PLACES. IT IS LIKELY HE LEARNT WHICH APARTMENT WAS YOURS, AND USED HIS MAGIC TO TRAVEL THROUGH YOUR FRONT DOOR. BUT DO NOT WORRY, TINY HUMAN LADY, HE WILL NOT BE DOING THAT AS LONG AS YOU ARE STAYING WITH US. RIGHT, SANS?”

Oh. Magic. Frisk knows that monsters are made of magic. Didn’t know it could do that, though. That sort of magic seems like it would be pretty useful for a criminal, if he wanted to break in anywhere he wouldn’t even have to bother with sneaking in. Just right through the front door.

“C’mon Pap, aren’t ya gonna let me have any secrets from little missy? Next you’re gonna show her my baby photos,” Sans is laughing, it’s probably not something he necessarily hides. Just something he doesn’t talk about.

The idea of baby photos is funny to Frisk. Was he just a smaller version of what he is now, or do monster babies grow in the same stages that humans do? Maybe it depends on the monster. She isn’t going to ask, she might start actually liking them if she sees them all cute and small.

Not that she necessarily dislikes them now. She’s found herself in a surprisingly comfortable situation with them. Still, she can’t forget about the whole gang portion of their lives, even if right now it just feels like hanging out with a couple of friends. She’s not even sure if they’re really friends, or just in a mutually beneficial partnership. Wait, that sounds like gang-talk, stop thinking about that.

She manages about three quarters of the spaghetti before she’s got to tap out. Papyrus really didn’t hold back with the portion sizes, and she’s feeling sleepy already. Can she get a nap in before they have to leave for thirty second? If they’re driving it shouldn’t take too long to get there. Sans seems to be feeling the same way, already sinking down into the couch comfortably. Papyrus, however, seems to still be full of unbridled energy. Jesus, where does he get it from?

“NOW, THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS PLANNED A HOST OF ACTIVITIES FOR THE THREE OF US TO DO DURING YOUR STAY, TINY HUMAN LADY. TONIGHT, WE WILL PLAY THE HUMAN GAME ‘HIDE AND SEEK’, I HAVE HEARD THAT MANY HUMAN CHILDREN ENJOY THIS GAME. I DO NOT SEE WHY THIS GAME CANNOT BE ENJOYABLE FOR ADULTS, TOO. ARE YOU AWARE OF THE RULES?”

He’s standing on the coffee table, pointing at Frisk. His excitement is almost intimidating. Much like the spaghetti, there isn’t much room to say no to him. Maybe all of this is a calculated way to get people to do what he wants? If he’s childish and endearing enough, you’d feel bad refusing him a bit of fun. She nods, and asks who will be ‘seeking’ first. Is she actually up for playing, or does she just want to placate him? Not sure yet, will have to re-evaluate later.

Sans is already volunteering himself. Seems like the easiest job to do, especially because it’s his house. Papyrus seems pleased with this, and is already yelling at him to count and dragging Frisk across the house to start hiding. Not knowing the house particularly well, it’s difficult to think of somewhere to hide. It doesn’t help that she hasn’t played this game since she was a child. Still, she needs to pick somewhere quickly. Can she squeeze behind the bed in the guest bedroom? It’s a four-poster, so it offers some cover and is less obvious than right under the bed.

She tries to push herself behind the bed. Nope, too tight. She’s by no means overweight, but it’s too tight a fit. Ten counts left to figure something out. She guesses under the bed is a good a place as any, since the house is already huge. To give her an edge, she does her best to cling to the slats so she isn’t immediately visible. She never noticed how carrying piles of plates could prepare her for having to hold up her own body weight. She’s not sure how long she can keep this up, but it’s not so bad for now.

Never mind. It could have been five minutes or an hour, her arms are burning. She refuses to drop though, partly because of the noise it would make, and partly because dropping would probably hurt. It seems like Papyrus hasn’t been found yet, which isn’t a good sign. Oh, is that footsteps? She can’t see from under the bed, although with her feet hooked into the slats she could maybe lower herself to see whose feet it is. Not that there’s much of a different in them, so maybe not. It’s getting even harder to hold herself up.

Whoever it is whistles while he walks. Must be Sans. Not that she’s ever heard him whistle before, she didn’t know he could without having lips.

It’s in a blink. She can feel him under him.

“Found ya, dollface.”

Just as he says that, her arms finally give out. Falling on him is less of a harsh landing than she expected, but it’s still not comfortable. Probably even less comfortable for him. A winded gasp for breath escapes him, and Frisk is trapped between him and the bedframe. What is she meant to do here? She’s got nowhere to go without shuffling all over him, and her toes are still hooked under the slats. Pulling them out feels great, she didn’t realise they had gone numb over the time she’d been holding herself up. Still, she can still feel Sans’ breath on the back of her neck and it’s making her shiver a little.

“Careful, little lady,” He’s still wheezing, probably from her weight being directly on his ribs. Lungs or not, this can’t be comfortable.

Maybe she should have just settled for being under the bed, without trying to hold herself up. She can feel her skin heat up. It’s good that Sans can’t see her face, or he’d probably make fun of her. How’s she going to get out of this one? Using her feet, she half crab-walks herself off him, before flopping down flat on her back next to him.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t think it would end that way,” Frisk is still out of breath from falling, “Are you hurt?”

She turns to face him. He doesn’t look to be in too much pain, he’s probably dealt with worse. Did she crack anything? She didn’t fall that far, and she’s not that heavy. All that exposed bone must be more fragile than bone that’s covered by muscle and skin, though.

“Nah, I’m alright, dollface. You ain’t heavier than a feather, just surprised me,” He’s back to grinning at her.

Good. It wouldn’t be ideal to hurt one of her hosts on her first day.

Still, he stays laid down, looking at her. It’s not as intimidating as when he stares, his lights a little dimmed. The white of it is almost blue in colour, but it might be her mind playing tricks on her.

Frisk is the first one to break the eye contact, looking up at the bottom of the bed. She just needs to catch her breath before she can get up. From elsewhere in the house, she can hear Papyrus stomping around, throwing a bit of a tantrum about how they aren’t playing properly, and that he’s not supposed to be the one seeking. Pulling herself out from under the bed, she has no idea how long he’s been waiting for them. Laughing a bit, she comes out to find him checking behind a vase.

“OH, THERE YOU ARE. HAS MY BROTHER FOUND YOU YET?”

Sans walks out from behind her. They aren’t going to play another round, are they? Frisk isn’t sure she can take that again, when she doesn’t even know her way around the house.

“Sorry, Pap. She got stuck between the bedframe and the wall, was tryna help her outta there before comin’ to find ya. Means ya won, though,” Sans has a cigarette between his teeth.

Winning seems to cheer Papyrus up a bit. Looking at the clock, he decides it’s time for him to head off to bed.

_So Sans didn’t tell Papyrus about their outing?_

Frisk isn’t sure if that’s comforting or not.

All that’s left to do is wait.


	9. City Rain

At half two, Sans is lighting up a cigarette in the car. He’s driving, rather than the bipedal dog Frisk had just gotten used to. She’s sitting shotgun, staring out of the window. It’s nearly time, and she couldn’t be more nervous. Either she’ll see her brother for the first time in half a decade, or it’s a trap. Either way, it’s weighing on her. To Sans it just seems like a normal Monday, and for him it probably is.

“Hey, dollface. I didn’t ask, but who did ya say Chara was affiliated with?” He’s being incredibly causal about it.

She just shrugs. She has no idea, she’s not even entirely sure he got affiliated. He just disappeared one day, and then her parents started preaching to her about not getting involved with a mob. They must have known something they weren’t telling her, so she put the pieces together and came to the conclusion that he joined a gang. Is she even right about that?

“I don’t know. He just up and left one night without telling me where he was going. Must’ve gotten involved with something, or he wouldn’t have disappeared like that,” She’s thinking. She’s got a guess. “Maybe the Asgores? They’re the locals, so unless he went further out they’re who I’ve been betting on.”

He looks troubled by that information. Frisk knows the Bones and the Asgores have some kind of rivalry going on, but don’t all mobs? They can’t all be buddy-buddy, or they’d just become one big mob rather than a collection of smaller ones. The air feels heavy, almost suffocating. She lights up a cigarette to, hopefully it’ll calm her nerves.

“They’re dangerous, y’know.” Yeah, that doesn’t help.

“And you aren’t?” She tries her best to make light of it, but it comes out dry and more serious than she’d hoped for. She’s probably making it worse. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that to a civilian, mobs are scary. No matter how kind some of the people _in_ them are.”

Sans smiles, just a bit. He flicks the butt out of the window, and continues driving.

“You callin’ me kind, dollface? I get called a lotta different things, but kind ain’t normally one of ‘em.”

Good. She hasn’t morally offended him. This is good news.

“Might be. Might be talkin’ about your brother though.” She’s just teasing now though, glad to have lightened the mood.

“Hey, don’t push it dollface. I can take bein’ called anythin’ under the sun but if you get sweet on Paps then I’m gonna have ‘ta keep a closer eye on ya than I thought,” She can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He’s grinning, but she doesn’t doubt that he would vigorously vet _anybody_ that wanted anything to do with his brother.

She laughs anyway. Keeping the mood light isn’t as hard as she thought it would be, maybe it’s Sans’ lax attitude to everything. He doesn’t seem too worried, even at the prospect of the Asgores being involved with this. If they’re lucky, it’ll just be a couple of goons pulling in a shipment from outside the city. If they’re luckier, it’ll be Chara on his own.

Driving to thirty-second doesn’t take too long. Sans has pulled up in an alleyway, and now they’re just waiting.

“Hey, you should take this. Just in case,” He’s already handing her a gun.

One problem: she’s never shot anything in her life before, and she doesn’t particularly want to. She prides herself on not being violent, and this kind of goes against that.

“Don’t worry, dollface. It’s just for the look. I’m behind ya if things get hairy. You won’t have’ta shoot anything,” He looks solemn for a second, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Does he even have a heart? Or is he talking about his soul? Frisk wishes he’d be more blunt with her sometimes. Still, she’s looking at the rifle in her arms. Looks like a Thompson, she remembers her father having one under the bed and trying to teach her how it works. He wasn’t- _isn’t_ a violent man, just wanted her to know how to defend herself. She knows how to use it, she just isn’t exactly comfortable with it.

Getting out of the car, she keeps herself pressed up against the wall of the building. It’s raining lightly, making her hair stick to her face a little. She could do with a haircut. The gun goes under her jacket, she doesn’t need anybody seeing her with it. Hell, she doesn’t need anybody she knows seeing her with a Bone, but the only person she has a hope of knowing in this district is Chara, and he might not even be here. Sans wasn’t lying about being behind her, he’s positioned himself a few feet away, but still watching. That makes her feel a little more comfortable. He’s not got a gun, but she doesn’t doubt he’s got a few magic tricks up his sleeve.

The rain is getting heavier. She’s starting to wish she’d brought a hat with her, or an umbrella. The streets are silent, besides the rain pelting down from above. Then, she sees him.

He’s looking around the main street for something, or somebody. Hesitantly, Frisk is walking to a streetlight, standing under it with her jacket wrapped around her, note in her pocket. Sans is still waiting in the alley, for something to go wrong. She’s been seen.

The figure gets closer, nearly too close. It’s hard to see his face under the hat he’s wearing, but it’s obvious who it is.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is thick, angry. Frisk looks to Sans to make sure he’s not about to do anything just yet.

Isn’t it obvious?

“Where are mom and dad? And where the _fuck_ have you been? It’s been nearly five years, Chara, what games are you playing?” Sufficed to say, Frisk is pissed, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing disappearing like that? What have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?”

Cars drive past. Frisk looks down at her feet. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here. There’s a cracking sound at the side of her head, then the feeling of metal against her scalp. Head snapping up, looking at her brother dead in the eyes.

“I’m not scared.”

_Gunshots echoed outside. The cops were nowhere to be found. Mom and Dad were still at work. It was just us, under the kitchen table in the dark._

_“Don’t be scared, Frisk. I’m not ever gonna let anything bad happen to you, no matter what, okay? Promise.”_

_“Okay. I’m not scared.”_

That was so long ago. Now, she’s looking at Chara in the eyes with a gun to her head. She’s not lying, though. She isn’t scared. She’s got backup. She’s got a gun in her jacket. Her brother looks confused, she was always scared of the guns. It’s been nearly half a decade though, and she’s grown up. Doesn’t seem like he has.

“Alright, kids. Time to stop playing. You her brother? You ain’t actin’ much like one. Now, who were ‘ya waiting for? Mom and Dad?” Sans is walking over towards them calmly, flicking another cigarette away. He chainsmokes more than anybody Frisk has ever met. “Yeah, they ain’t coming. Dollface over here went over a couple days ago to try ‘nd find ‘em. House empty, folks gone. Now, I’m gonna tell ya once, and once only. Let her go, or you’re gonna have a _bad time_.”

Chara lowers the gun. He looks a mixture of shocked and betrayed. Maybe even scared. Does he know who Sans is? Seems everybody does. But this isn’t his territory, Frisk is pretty sure that thirty second is no-man’s land. Probably why Chara wanted to meet here, rather than on anybody’s turf.

“So you got involved with a mob? What, are ya sweet on ‘im, Frisk? Don’t tell me you’re gonna go live happy families with one’a him. Dad would kill both of ya where ya stand.” He’s looking between Frisk and Sans, most likely trying to rationalise what’s going on, spin it in a way where he comes out of it looking rosy.

Speaking of rosy, Frisk’s cheeks are heating up. She’s been blushing a lot, recently. She steps forward, backing Chara away.

“Give me the info you’ve got, or I won’t stop him.” Her eyes are burning, chest aching. It feels like how it did in the apartment. “Where are mom and dad?”

It looks like Chara’s going to make a break for it, when Sans appears behind him. She doesn’t want to threaten her brother, but she’s not got much of a choice. Abandoning her, her parents, breaking promises. He’s got a lot of apologising to do. She’s got a lot of anger building up inside of her. She just hopes this won’t turn into an open firefight.

“C’mon, tell the lady what she needs to know.” Sans is lighting up another cigarette. Does he ever stop smoking? “We ain’t gonna go ratting you out to Asgore or whoever you’re scared of, just need you to answer a couple questions for us.”

It’s clear Chara has nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape to. If he weren’t alone, his comrades would have made it known by now. There’s still fight in him though, he and Frisk were always cut from the same cloth.

“Don’t mess with my sister,” He’s hissing at Sans, “She ain’t your dollface or whatever ya keep callin’ her. And this ain’t your business, it’s a family matter.”

Well, that’s rich coming from him. He’s not exactly been one for family values the past few years.

“The skeleton stays, Chara. Need you to start talking, right now.” She doesn’t want to get the gun out on her own brother. Still, she’s filled with this seething hatred that she never thought she could feel for another human being, much less her brother. “Did Asgore take them? What, didn’t they pay the protection fee? Or is it something to do with you?”

Is she crying? Her face feels wet. Or is that just the rain? She’s not sure. She knows they’re making a scene, but goddamn it’s three in the morning and she needs answers. Chara almost looks scared of her. Maybe it’s just the skeleton standing behind him, though. Either is plausible, the last time Chara saw her, she was fifteen and fresh-faced to the world; not a lick of understanding about how anything worked, and too kind for her own good. She still strives for kindness, sure, but if you don’t know how to stand up for yourself people will take advantage of you.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. It was my fault, I said something to piss Asgore off and now he’s coming for the family. You don’t need to worry though, you’re apparently out here fucking monsters with enough power to scare him off. Don’t even think about trying to find ‘em though, I got it under control now I know he’s got ‘em for sure. And once I’ve gotten ‘em out, don’t even think about bringing a monster home to see ‘em, he’ll dust the two of you before you can say anything.” Chara’s eyes are narrowed, his words feel like poison. “Go on, admit it. You two are sweet, I can see it. I know my sister better than anybody does. Why else would a freak like you be following her around, bending to her every whim? Bet it was her idea to come out here.”

He’s not wrong about their father. He’s not wrong about this being her idea. He is wrong about knowing her, where’s he been for the last five years? Pissing it up against a wall and ignoring the family he claimed to love so much. Frisk can’t take it anymore. She settles for at least getting some information out of him, and kicks him aside.

“Fine. Go back to Asgore or whatever it is you do. If you see Mom and Dad, tell them whatever you want. I’m not letting them go this easily though, I don’t give a shit what you tell me. Just remember you abandoned us, I didn’t.” Frisk is already walking away, ushering Sans to come with her, “C’mon. He’s more of an asshole these days than I thought. I’ve got work later, and I’m tired. We’re going home.”

She’s definitely crying now, but she’s not letting either of the men around her see that. Hot tears are streaming down her cheeks. It’s a good job she doesn’t wear makeup, or it would be ruined. She hears Sans whisper something to her brother, she doesn’t even want to know what it is. She just wants to go home.

The car ride home is silent, except for her sniffling. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up about Chara. Of course his mind would jump to the most extreme possibility of her connection to Sans. When they get back to the house, she doesn’t know what to say to Sans.

“G’night, doll. I’ll come see ya at work tomorrow. And, hey. Don’t let the bastard get ya down, he’s a fool for leavin’ ya behind like that.” She appreciates him trying, it almost feels like he cares about her problems.

“Night. Thanks for driving me out there, sorry you had to see that.”


	10. Guts

Frisk can’t tell how long she’s been crying for. Her throat stings, her chest aches, and she can’t stop shaking. This is the first time she’s felt like this since she found out Chara had gone. She’d been holding this back the whole way home, so the second she got herself in privacy it all came spilling out. She’s not even had the energy to put her nightdress on, or get into bed. As soon as she was in the room, she just sank to the floor against the wall. She didn’t even hear the door creak open over her trying to muffle herself.

When Sans sits down next to her, Frisk almost punches him in the face. Not on purpose, but that visceral panic when she felt the presence of somebody else in the room freaked her out. It’s not like she can stop crying long enough to actually make it land, it was a weak attempt at self-defence. If this were actually an intruder, she’d be dead.

“Hey, dollface. Wait, no. Frisk. Probably not the time for me to be gettin’ ya to try and sweeten up to me, right?” He’s laughing softly, “Listen. I can’t sleep either. I know it’s not proper to be comin’ into a lady’s bedroom at this hour, but I wanted to talk to ya. Gotta hand it to ya for how ya spoke to Chara before, must’ve taken some guts to do that.”

She can’t bring herself to reply to him, but what he said feels nice. She’s not used to genuine compliments like that.

“He said some real nasty shit back there. I could tell it bothered ya more than ya were lettin’ on, but I didn’t want’a say anythin’ for fear of embarrassin’ ya. I just wanted ya to know that I know ya ain’t like him.”

Hearing how he’s speaking about her brother, she almost wants to actually punch him. That’s her brother he’s talking about. He’s right though, Chara’s gotten a lot meaner since he left home. She can barely recognise him anymore.

“He’s got guts too, I’ll admit. But how he spoke to ya? It took a lot for me to not pummel him there and then. If you’d let me, he’d be nothin’ but a pulp on the ground. ‘Specially after ya started crying. I knew ya’d hate me for it though, and I don’t wanna put ya through more hurt than ya have to go through with ‘im. Look, what I’m tryna say is that I know I’m just some mobster to ya, and I don’t blame ya for thinkin’ that, but I do care about ya. Havin’ ya around back there reminded me that mercy’s always an option, even when I’m seein’ red.”

During his speech, Frisk had gently lowered her head onto Sans’ shoulder. It’s comfortable, and at one point she probably would have been surprised, but she’s come to expect a whole host of surprises with him.

“Yeah. You’re right. I would’ve hated you if you’d killed him. It was good having you there, though. Made me feel a hell of a lot safer with that gun to my head,” She laughs, but it’s hollow, “Still can’t believe he actually tried that. If you weren’t there, I don’t know if he’d have, well. Done it. If it came down to it though, and I had to pick between you, I don’t know if I could bring myself to pick him after what he’s done to our parents. Doesn’t feel like I know him anymore.”

At some point, one of Sans’ arms had worked its way around her. Sitting together like this is nice, though. Maybe before she’d have pushed him away, but she’s too tired, and if she’s being honest, she does trust him at least a little bit. The way he’s been talking to her is comforting, and makes her feel a little more determined to help her parents. Or maybe it’s spite, against Chara. She’s not sure.

It took a moment for her to notice the dim light emanating from Sans’ chest. By the time she’d realised what was happening, the small heart was sitting out in the open. Is she allowed to touch it? Maybe that’s a little too much. Sans is laughing again, soft and quiet.

“Ya showed me yours, guess it was only a matter’a time ‘til I showed ya mine, right?”

Frisk remembers what Sans said about monster souls. They get to choose who sees it, but in humans, the soul decides for itself. She’s touched that Sans trusts her enough to do this, it must be a big deal to him with the way he’s sitting there. She can’t imagine how vulnerable it must feel to voluntarily bare your soul to somebody else. To her, it feels almost romantic, if somebody like him even understands romance. She can feel something brewing inside her.

It’s partly uncertainty. Is it even okay for a human and a monster to exist like this? She can’t deny that it doesn’t feel wrong in any way to her, but the way her father spoke of monsters made it sound like they’re the scum of the earth. But that’s not true, she knows that. She heard what Sans said to her, and she’s fully aware that if he were truly incapable of compassion, he’d have left her for dead.

Both of them are surprised when the small red heart makes its way out of Frisk’s chest. They’re looking at each other, eye to eyesocket lit up by the dim pink glow.

“Is this okay?” Frisk’s whispering now, reaching out to touch the white heart. She doesn’t know why she wants to, but she can’t help the urge. Sans’ only response is a short nod.

It doesn’t feel quite like she thought it would. It’s soft, to the touch, a little like velvet. The reaction she gets out of Sans from the slightest touch makes her face flush crimson. He leans into her a little more, keeping eye contact as he reaches for hers in return.

Well, they’ve already gotten this far. Might as well see what happens.

That full-body pulse she got a taste of before is back as he picks up her soul and gently brushes it. She does her best to imitate his movements through the feeling. There’s no denying that it feels good, better than she’s felt in a long time. They stay like that for a while, exchanging little electric touches that feel like waves. Every time one of them moves, the other feels it throughout their body, and it’s difficult for Frisk to remain quiet when it all feels so good. As long as he’s touching it, the feeling is unrelenting. As long as she’s touching his, his face becomes more and more blue. The final shred of rationality in the back of Frisk’s mind worries about Papyrus hearing, but when Sans gives her soul a light squeeze it feels like game over.

Every ounce of breath she had left her chest when that happened. She feels like she’s burning, and it’s incredibly pleasant. She lets go for just a moment, and laughs nervously.

“I-is it meant to feel like that?” She asks. She doesn’t want it to stop, but Sans has let up for a moment.

Apparently, it was to pick her up. He’s muttering something to himself that she can barely register over the sound of her own pulse. She’s dizzy like a drunk, and can’t wipe the smile off her face. She catches part of it.

“Feel like ya more deservin’ of the bed than the floor for this sorta thing, dollface.”

_Oh. This is what he meant by intimate._

Not that she’s complaining. She feels a little too far gone to be worrying about that sort of thing right now. Might as well take it too far, since she’s already in this deep, right?

Sans isn’t as rough with her as she thought he’d be, everything he does feels deliberately gentle. Each squeeze or stroke of her soul is just shy of too much, and she absolutely can’t get enough of it. In a moment, he’s kissing her too. She hadn’t realised he had lips before, and they feel warm against hers. She whines involuntarily when he pulls away from her.

“If ya tell me to stop, I’ll stop. Got it?” The grin plastered across Sans’ face makes him look handsome, “But if ya don’t, you’re gonna be all mine.”

Maybe that would have been intimidating, if Frisk didn’t have his soul between her fingers. When she squeezes, he makes the most indecent sound she’s ever heard in her life. Then he’s kissing her again, one hand cupping her cheek and the other holding onto her soul. She’s barely aware of the world around her, it could be ending for all she cares. All she cares about right now is the swelling feeling inside her, and the man that has her basically pinned to the bed.

She feels hot all over, like she’s made of fire. There’s a sheen of sweat lightly covering her body, and she gets the distinct feeling she’s wearing far too many clothes. More importantly, Sans is definitely wearing too many clothes, still in his tie and jacket. She starts tugging at his shirt, using her non-occupied hand to unbutton it. When she has it open, she runs her hands down his ribs gently, feeling every bone. It should probably feel strange to her, but she wants for nothing else.

Sans shivers lightly, placing soft kisses down her neck. She stretches her neck out a little more to make room for him. Her hand continues around his body, up his back. Every nodule is something else to gently brush at, eliciting more small moans from him.

That’s when Frisk starts to feel something else. It’s resting against her leg, pressing against it. When she rolls Sans’ soul between her fingers, it twitches a little. He gasps and grins against her neck, nipping at the skin. The hand that was cupping her cheek has started moving south, and he’s resting on his other elbow, her soul still between his fingers. Every single movement adds to the swelling feeling inside of her. She can’t take her mind off how good this feels.

The bony fingers running up her leg comes as a surprise to her. It runs up her dress and rests at her upper thigh, massaging circles into it. She lifts her legs up to curl around Sans’ hips, pulling him closer.

Oh. _That’s_ what she can feel.

Sans pulls back for a moment, his hand creeping up her thigh some more.

“This okay, darlin’?”

When she nods, his fingers brush up against her underwear. The gasp that leaves her lips is obscene, and the gasp that leaves her lips is obscene. He keeps going, still working at her soul with his other hand. It feels like she might just light on fire soon.

Clothes puddle beside the bed, first her dress, then his shirt and jacket. She isn’t sure when his trousers end up in the pile, nor where exactly her underwear has ended up. She can’t find it in herself to care. If her brother is going to call her a monster fucker, than she might as well.

Of course, that isn’t the only motivation. That swelling feeling still builds, and builds faster when Sans’ hot tongue gets involved. To hell with any prejudice, or societal rules regarding races. There are few things Frisk is sure of right now, except that she craves the pleasure that this is bringing her more than anything else. Without hair to grip to, she settles for the sheets underneath her. When Sans is crawling up her body again, she is close to begging him for release. The swelling has turned into a tight knot at the pit of her stomach, and the only remedy is _more_.

That grin has barely left his face the whole time. She grins back, pulling him down into another kiss. Sans’ underwear joins the pile of discarded clothing, sealing the silent deal between the two of them.

_No turning back now_.

Teeth meet her neck, and she cannot hold back the moans that escape her. Waves of pleasure wash over her, and the only thing she can do to stop herself from waking the entire district is to bury her face in Sans’ clavicle. It’s not a perfect solution, but it will have to do for now. Neatly trimmed nails pull down his back, their chests are pressed against each other, and eventually the knot undoes.

It feels like a dam inside her opened for the first time, pleasure racks through her body and she is unable to contain it any longer. It seems that neither is he, as they both clutch the other for dear life, still holding the others’ soul tightly. Sweaty and spent, the two barely separate before they sink into sleep.


	11. Morning After

Waking up next to Sans is not something Frisk expected on her first morning at the residence. Well, afternoon. She is curled close to his chest, arms entangled around him. Despite being the first to wake up, she can’t bring herself to leave the comfort, so she makes her best effort to return to sleep. It seems their souls returned themselves over the course of the evening. She knows how her father would feel about this, but she can’t bring herself to feel guilty. How can something that feels like _that_ be wrong?

As she lays awake, she realises that she really needs a bath. Still, Sans did her the service of not letting her wake up alone. She can repay the favour, as long as he doesn’t sleep too late. For a moment, she presses her hands to his chest. His soul is in there, she knows it. She touched it. It’s strange to think about. Even stranger is that he chose to show it to her. He probably does to all the girls he wants to sleep with, make them feel special and then have his way with them. She can’t feel upset about it though, regardless of his intentions there’s no denying the good time she had. She hopes Papyrus didn’t hear too much, or she might never be able to look at him in the face again. She has to crane her head up to make eye contact with him anyway, so it isn’t like much has changed, but it’s the principle of the matter.

It feels like it takes forever for Sans to wake up. Frisk pretends she’s only just woken up so she doesn’t have to explain to him why she stuck around all afternoon for him. He yawns and sits up.

“Afternoon, dollface,” He’s already lighting up a cigarette, “Ya have fun?”

Sitting up is a little more difficult than she anticipated. She lights up a cigarette too, realising the headache she now has. She’s nodding casually, even though the experience she had felt anything but.

 _Ow_. He’s poked her in the neck. Hard.

“Looks like the creeps at the bar’ll know ya aren’t interested now. I do come with a multitude of benefits.” He’s looking more smug than ever. “Oh, and don’t think I forgot about coming to see ya. I’m the guy who’s gonna be drivin’ ya around everywhere. If you’ve pissed off the Asgores then ya need maximum security. Which would be me.”

She’s not too mad at him, he’s right about the creeps at the bar. If she can pretend she’s spoken for, she’s most likely going to have an easier time saying no to them. After the cigarette, Frisk decides it’s time for that bath. She’s still sweaty, and needs to at least look presentable for work. Standing up, she’s acutely aware of how naked she is. Sans wolf whistles at her, and she could slap him.

“Don’t push it, Bones,” She can’t help smiling though.

He’s definitely a sleaze, but she can’t be mad at him about it.

The bath here runs much hotter than her apartment. It’s steaming nearly the moment it gets out of the faucet. When she gets in, it feels like heaven. It even makes her cheap rose soap feel a bit more luxurious. While bathing, she gets to thinking about last night. She had a great time, regardless of the outcome. She’s pretty sure it won’t end up with sweet dates to the movies or candlelit dinners, but she’s not discounting the possibility of it. Sans might have been secretly a romantic this whole time. Still, Wings probably wouldn’t be happy about it. A civilian and one of his right hand men, his brother of all people? Yeah, probably not.

By the time Frisk is dried off and dressed for work, Sans already left the bedroom. She doesn’t blame him, he’d be bored out of his skull just sitting around waiting for her. She can hear Papyrus through the floor when she leaves the bedroom herself.

“SANS, IS THE TINY HUMAN LADY OKAY? LAST NIGHT I THOUGHT I HEARD SCREAMING, AND I WANTED TO CHECK, BUT IT SEEMED YOU WERE ATTENDING TO HER.”

Okay, she’s beet red before she’s even seen the two of them. She didn’t think she was _that_ loud.

“Nah, Paps, she’s fine. She got a little freaked out last night ‘cuz of the call she got. Had a bad dream. She’s just a civ, Pap, she’s not cool with all of our business yet. Don’t worry ‘bout it, I can handle it.”

_Nice save, Sans._

When she enters the room, Papyrus rushes over to her.

“ARE YOU OKAY, TINY HUMAN LADY? YOU HAD ME WORRIED. I DID NOT KNOW YOU SUFFERED SO GREATLY WITH NIGHTMARES. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO PERSONALLY ACQUIRE YOU SOME SLEEPING MEDICATION FOR IT?”

Ah, Papyrus. Always doing his best. She’s laughing, even though she’s still blushing at the thought of Papyrus hearing her.

“AND WHERE DID THAT BRUISE COME FROM? YOU HAVEN’T HURT YOURSELF, HAVE YOU?”

Sans is smirking at her from behind Papyrus. She’s going to kill him for that.

“I’m fine, Papyrus sir. I’m sure it won’t happen often. I bruise easily, I probably just itched something that broke a few blood vessels.” She’s laughing still, but she wants to throttle Sans, “Trust me, bruises are nothing to humans.”

He seems placated by this answer. He clearly doesn’t know too much about humans. Works for Frisk, means she doesn’t have to explain what she and his brother were doing last night. That would probably kill her, just from sheer humiliation.

“Is it work time, dollface?” Looking at the clock, it’s about half five. She has no idea where exactly in the city she is, but driving it shouldn’t take too long.

“Shift starts at six, should be done at about eleven,” Thinking about it, which district is she even in? It’s definitely Bones territory, but they’ve got a _lot_ of districts under their belts.

Sans just shrugs and throws himself down on the couch.

“Oh, Pap got you another carton of cigarettes. Noticed you go through quite a few on shift, you got enough matches?” He’s tossing a carton onto the coffee table.

Huh, sweet of him. Frisk smiles sweetly at Papyrus, and thanks him profusely. She does get through a lot of cigarettes these days, something about being hit on for five hours really puts stress on you. Picking them up, she sits on the opposite couch and waits for Sans’ word to go. Papyrus is rambling about his spaghetti again, how he’s so close to perfecting the recipe. He isn’t, but she doesn’t want to beat him down about it when he’s just done her a massive favour.

Sans ends the spaghetti conversation early, by telling her it’s time to go. The car ride isn’t awkward, Sans is making bone-related puns here and there, and chain smoking. He’s giving Frisk a run for her money with that, does he even need to breathe?

When they reach Grillby’s, Frisk thanks him for the ride and gets out of the car.

“Nah, dollface. What kinda security would I be if I didn’t walk ya into ya place’a work?” He’s grinning at her.

Walking into the bar with him is surely going to turn some heads. Maybe this is what Grillby asked him to do, to get some of the sleazes off her back. Hey, better the sleaze you live with than the one that slaps your ass whenever you’re trying to ferry burgers to a neighbouring table. She accepts his arm. If she didn’t know him, she’d think Sans was a gentleman.

Grillby looks pleased to see her. He raises a fiery eyebrow at her walking in arm-in-arm with Sans, but doesn’t mention it. Some of the regulars are staring at them, but it feels more like they’re staring at Sans than her. It’s a change, anyway.

Sans leans down to kiss her on the cheek before he leaves. Is he just doing this to make her blush in front of the clientele? Who knows.

“See ya later, dollface. Be picking ya up at eleven sharp, don’t let Grillby work ya too hard,” He winks at her before exiting the diner.

Her face still hot, she pushes her way into the break room to hang up her jacket and purse. Maybe things will begin to get back to normal now, at least a little bit.

Grillby is pleased to see her. He even stops cleaning glasses to come up to talk to her for a moment before she really has to get on the floor. This is the most time off work she’s ever taken, even around Christmas.

“Good to see ya, Frisk. It’s been real quiet without ya here.” He’s staring pointedly at her neck. It’s pretty obvious. “I predict ya won’t be experiencing so much unwanted attention anymore.”

It takes a while for her to get herself back into the swing of things. She’d missed this place though, so she’s working extra hard to make up for her absence. Seemingly, Grillby’s prediction was correct; even the usual offenders haven’t so much as looked at her in a mildly suggestive way since she came in with Sans. Maybe having security isn’t such a bad thing after all. It means she can just get on with her job rather than trying to bend around the whims of a few monsters who’ve never seen a human woman in the flesh.

Still, she seems to be the talk of the tables. Mutterings of rumours about her relationship (or lack thereof) with Sans are floating around. She’s asked questions like ‘did Sans bite you?’, ‘is he sweet on you?’ and ‘you know he’s never gone steady, right?’ about a hundred times over the course of the evening. She ignores them, what’s between her and him is their business and nobody else’s. She’s learnt not to stick your nose in other peoples’ business the hard way.

The shift goes relatively quickly without the usual onslaught of propositions. It’s actually quite refreshingly normal, even the stragglers who show up an hour before closing for their last round of drinks before they hit the town make her feel better. Normalcy is something she’s missed over the last few days.

Either they don’t notice the bite on her neck, or they don’t know who it’s from. It’s the usual treatment: being offered a ride home, being asked if they can walk her home, being asked if she’ll come out on the town with them after work. Every answer is no, and has been since she started working, but they just don’t let up. That is, until Sans walks in ten minutes to closing. He sits right up at the bar, where she’s pouring drinks.

Frisk nearly jumps out of her skin when she turns around and sees him just sitting there, chatting with the stragglers. If she didn’t know better, she’d probably just think he was another regular. The stragglers look like they’re trying to impress him, bragging about the guy they fought last week or the girl they laid last night. The biggest guy in the party is really going for it, telling Sans about how he shot down twelve guys before coming here, and how he’s waiting to take Frisk home after her shift because she’s been ‘making eyes’ at him since she started working for Grillby. If by ‘eyes’, he means glares, then sure. She puts the line of drinks in front of them, smiling.

“Uh, no thank you. I have a prior engagement this evening,” She looks at Sans like a cry for help.

It’s like she’s saying _do you see what I have to put up with?_

In an instant, the biggest monster has beer spilled all down his front. Sans is leaning back in the chair, looking between Grillby and the clock.

“Sorry, bud. Looks like you’ll have’ta go home and change ya shirt before ya try ‘n take the little lady anywhere. It’s the end of her shift anyway, so better luck next time.” He grins at her, “I’ll be here waitin’ for ya.”

Sans saves the day. Or at least, Frisk’s dignity for now. The irony of that isn’t lost on her.


	12. What (not) To Wear

It’s been a few days of Frisk living with Sans and Papyrus. Closer to two weeks, actually. Her new normal has become bad spaghetti (it’s getting better), and sleeping until noon. It’s not so far removed from her previous normal, but there are some definite differences. She’s never been chauffeured everywhere before, nor has it become so apparent that she doesn’t own any _nice_ clothes. It really does hit you when the two men you live with are always in three piece suits. They don’t make her feel bad about it or anything, besides some of Papyrus’ more _insensitive_ comments, like the time he asked her why she only wears the same three dresses and her work uniform. There’s a recession going on, in case you haven’t noticed.

When Sans tells her that she _needs_ a nicer outfit, she’s both confused and somewhat offended. She’s not made of money, and the clothes she already has still have a lot of wear left in them. Sans brushes her off almost immediately.

“Nah, there’s nothin’ wrong with what’cha have already, but we got somethin’ to do somewhere a little fancier than your calibre. It’s my job’ta take ya shoppin’ today.”

His _job?_ Frisk feels like this isn’t going to go as well as he imagines; she doesn’t know the first thing about dressing “nice”. She just dresses like herself and it seems to do her just fine. This also doesn’t answer the question of where the hell they’re going to warrant dressing nice. For a moment, she entertains the idea of a fancy date, but that’s stupid. Still, she always wanted to go somewhere fancy if only to see how the other half live.

It’s strange being out in public with him. It’s not exactly a secret to the general population that he’s in a gang, and even though she doesn’t know the clientele of this particular store they’re all bending over backwards for her. She hasn’t even asked about the price yet, but she can tell a dress from here isn’t going to be cheap. Sans said not to worry though, just to get something she feels good in. She has no idea what looks good, so she asked the lady behind the counter to recommend something, which is the dress she’s wearing right now. It’s this deep red that reminds her of wine and stops just at the knee. It feels almost too good for her, what business does she have to dress this nicely? She’s just a waitress, not a movie star.

After carefully removing the item of clothing and changing back into her usual clothes, she comes out into the store proper to tell Sans that the dress is fine. When she asks how much it is, he just tells her it’s already been paid for. She glares at him for a moment, before resigning herself. She knows she’s not going to win that argument, and she doubts even with the few hundred dollars she’s saved she could begin to afford a dress like that.

“So am I allowed to ask exactly what this is for?” Frisk asks, as Sans is all but dragging her into a different store and picking up a selection of cosmetic items.

She’s not entirely sure what he expects her to do with all of this. She understands the concept of rouge and lipstick, but he’s been picking up a variety of powders and pencils too. Her mother used to tell her that only ladies of the night wore makeup in public, but recently she’s been noticing a shift in that attitude especially among young women – they even apply their makeup in public now. She’s not against makeup in any way, she’s just never had much of an interest in that sort of thing.

Sans just shrugs and says “It’s an event. Ya need to look the part, hence what we’re doin’ today. Don’t worry ‘bout Grillby, already let ‘im know you have’ta have tomorrow night off.”

She can’t do much but glare at him. She’s going to need a lot of cigarettes to put up with that, if by ‘event’, he means a bunch of mobsters. At least she’s gotten a nice dress out of it, though. Is that shallow to think? If she’s going to be dragged somewhere without being asked first, she’s at least glad she hasn’t had to scrape together her own money for the ‘appropriate’ attire.

“Don’t worry ‘bout anythin’, alright dollface?” Just do what ya do best, ‘nd you’ll be just fine,” He winks at her, after paying for the makeup, “One more stop and then I’ll buy ya lunch, save goin’ home ‘nd puttin’ ya through more’a Pap’s cooking.”

Frisk can’t argue with that. She doesn’t know where Sans is taking her to get shoes, she can’t even remember the last time she bought any. She just wears the same comfortable pair every day, maybe it would be nice to have a ‘nicer’ pair for special occasions. Based on the dress though, they might be too fancy for any ‘nice’ occasion she would usually find herself in.

The small boutique she finds herself in stocks far more types of ladies’ shoes than she thought existed. She’s somewhat overwhelmed by the different types, and has no idea what would go with the dress she has. Presumably something in a similar dark red shade, or black. She shows the fabric to the clerk, who recommends a similarly-stained satin heeled shoe.

Sans just waves his hand dismissively, “S’all lady stuff to me, doll. You get whatever ya want, don’t even tell ‘er the price, ya hear?”

The clerk smiles and nods. She looks at Frisk, already wrapping up the shoes.

“Hey, where’d you pick up a man like that? Mind pointing one my way if you find another? Now you head on out and let the gentleman pay for these,” She’s shooing Frisk away, nearly pushing her out of the door. It’s a good thing, too, because she didn’t know what to say in response.

Sans heads out moments later, still carrying her bags. He’s just grinning at her. She can’t tell if this is a good thing or not, but he seems pleased with himself so she’ll leave it for now. Anyway, he’s buying her lunch, so she’ll just have to put up with it.

He takes her into a café just off the main street. The two waitresses look incredibly bored, but Frisk doesn’t blame them; customer service is incredibly easy in theory, but it can wear on you after a long time of doing it. She ends up just getting whatever Sans is getting, because she doesn’t recognise a single thing on the menu and she’s pretty sure it’s all in French. It’s tasty, though. She’s pretty sure it’s chicken and maybe roses? Who knows, it’s a strange flavour but it isn’t spaghetti so she’ll take it.

They sit in the café for a little while drinking coffee after lunch, when Frisk gets that feeling she’s being watched again. She’s sure it’s nothing, just her being self-conscious about Sans having spent all this money on her in just one day. She still has no idea how much he’s spent in total, but she’s pretty much certain it was more than a months’ rent for her. Sipping her coffee, she turns her head to the window behind her – just in case. She can’t see anybody in particular looking at her, so she chalks it up to her own paranoia.

“We should head back now, you’ve got work in a couple hours, come on.”

Sans downed his coffee, threw some cash on the table (either that was an expensive meal, or he’s giving a really good tip. She hopes it’s the second one) and grips her surprisingly firmly by the arm. It’s a little out of nowhere, but he is right. She tries to think nothing of it.


	13. The Main Event

Frisk has been trying to do her hair and makeup for the last half an hour. She’s got a copy of Zelda in front of her, telling her all the steps to doing makeup. It’s an incredibly long and arduous process, and she’s not quite sure she likes it, but it does remind her of painting in art classes so it definitely could be worse. She’s glad she had the foresight to do her hair last night, since that took hours for her to figure out – why didn’t anybody ever teach her how to do her hair?

It’s taken nearly an hour in total to actually get the makeup on her face, and she’s not sure it looks great. It looks similar enough to the pictures that she’s sure she’s done at least a passable job. Putting the dress on alone is somewhat of a task in itself, especially when she can hear Papyrus yelling downstairs asking where his ‘good tie’ is. It’s all a very surreal experience in terms of hearing two hardened criminals arguing about which tie looks better, or which jacket is the nicest. When she gets to putting the satin shoes on, she notices a few extra items in the bag. It’s mostly jewellery, likely things that Sans picked up whilst she was waiting for him outside, and a small black beaded purse. She can’t remember the last time she wore jewellery (maybe when she used to steal her mom’s necklaces for dress-up?), so it feels a little weighty on her, but it _does_ really tie the outfit together. The purse too looks nice with the outfit, it’s got some really nice beading on it.

Looking in the mirror, she feels like it isn’t her looking back. She can’t think of a time where she ever looked this good. Not that she ever feels she’s looked particularly bad, but this is a whole different level for her. Is this what feeling like a million bucks is like?

Both Papyrus and Sans seem surprised by how well she’s cleaned up. Papyrus is silent for a moment, and Sans is just standing there with that smirk on his face – he seems incredibly pleased with himself, and it makes Frisk want to punch him in his bony face.

“So, dollface. What’s happenin’ tonight is we’re doin’ a deal with the Rats, we’re not hankerin’ for a fight or nothin’. Still, I wantcha to be able to protect yourself in case somethin’ goes wrong. I know it’s not ya favourite thing, but better safe than sorry, right? Gotcha somethin’ smaller this time, that ol’ Tommy ain’t exactly ladylike,” He’s handing her a small shotgun, just big enough to fit in her purse with her cigarettes.

She’s not too pleased about it, but she has to admit that as a safety precaution it makes sense. She can’t just rely on Sans or Papyrus all of the time, even though that’s basically what they’ve been making her do between ferrying her to and from work, pouring drinks on the monsters at the bar that hit on her, and buying her the appropriate attire for this event.

Papyrus, ever the gentleman, steps in saying, “TINY HUMAN LADY, DO NOT WORRY ABOUT SHOOTING. IT IS MERELY A PRECAUTION, WE HAVE NO REASON TO EXPECT ANY KIND OF VIOLENCE THIS EVENING. SHOULD ANYTHING HAPPEN, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE THE FIRST TO COME TO YOUR AID.”

“Yeah, he’ll really _rattle their bones_ if anybody tries anythin’ tonight,” Sans is laughing at his own bad joke.

Papyrus looks annoyed. Frisk still wants to punch Sans. Nobody but Sans is happy with this interaction.

Still, the three of them are being ushered into a car by that bipedal dog. Wings is already in the front seat, silently reading something. Frisk can’t tell what it is in the dark, but she assumes it’s some kind of document.

“Ah, good. You’re all here. Now, Frisk, I assume you’re somewhat confused as to why we’re bringing you along with us. Well, this is not so much a party as an arrangement which will end in a mutually beneficial agreement between us and a neighbouring family – I assume the boys have already told you about this. As a repayment for us taking you into our care, you will be coming with us as proof that we treat humans well. If asked, you should tell the Rats that you are enjoying your time under our protection, and feel safer than before. You should also make note of any particularly good deeds either Sans or Papyrus have done in your favour that fall outside the realm of protection. I know my brothers well, and trust that they have been amicable towards you over these past days. I ask you not to worry, this should all go smoothly as we have more power and standing than these men. With your assistance, we should be able to get to enjoying ourselves faster than usual.” Frisk is reminded that she’s never heard Wings talk at length before; he seems kind enough, but also firm. She knows what is expected of her, and god help her if she doesn’t comply.

She’s squished between Sans and Papyrus, as the shortest member of the party. Papyrus is babbling on about something or other, she hasn’t been listening. She’s just thinking about the night ahead of her, the types of people she’ll meet, the gun in her purse. The weight of the situation is finally hitting her; she is well and truly involved with a mob, and they’re not likely to just let her back into the civilian world after this. Maybe she hasn’t made a deal with them, but she’s about to hear some presumably very important information, they probably don’t want somebody with that much information wandering around in regular society. She’s reminded of how vehemently her father was/is against this sort of thing, and how she’s probably just become the second biggest disappointment in the family. At least she didn’t do this on purpose.

Sans reaches over to squeeze her hand between his fingerbones for just a second. He’s offering her an almost comforting smile. The car stops, and Frisk guesses it’s time for the main event.

The place where she’s led is a large, smoky room with soft music coming from somewhere. There are people sitting at various tables, men with large guns at the door, and the distinct smell of whiskey and wine permeating the air. It’s putting her on edge, especially because some of the men in the room are eyeing her up like food on their plates. Some of them just look confused as to why she’s here, but standing between Sans and Papyrus makes her feel a bit safer.

“Hey missy, why don’t’cha come sit with us while the men talk business? Tell us all about what a girl like you’s doin’ with monsters like them.” The man in front of her is tall, with slicked back hair. He has a cigar in his mouth, and he smells like booze.

Sans just pushes her in his direction and goes to sit with Wings and Papyrus on a table with presumably the big boss of the Rats. She ends up sitting with a group of four men, all of varying degrees of intimidating. It’s not surprising that they’re all taller than her, and she’s pretty sure she can see guns on all of them. This feels more dangerous than when her own brother had a gun to her head, but she can’t rationalise why.

The conversation goes from why she’s here, to why she’s here with the Bones. She doesn’t want to reveal too much information, but basically goes along with what Wings told her to say. She got into a bit of trouble, and as a favour she is under their protection until everything gets sorted out. The brothers have been treating her well, Papyrus cooks for her nearly every night. She’s almost running out of things to say in response to their questions.

“Which’a those monsters is ya sweetheart? A guy as rough as those monsters wouldn’t just take ya in like that unless he was sweet on ya,” One of the men is dragging on a cigar as he speaks, “It’s not Wings. I doubt he’s even got the soul to get sweet on anybody. Go on, ya can tell us.”

Frisk’s face is heating up, she can feel it. Still, she at least has an answer for this question.

“Actually, they owed my employer a favour. I got caught up in something, and he didn’t want anybody unsavoury coming to find me, so he cashed in the favour for me.” She smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She is reminded why she hates people like this; they get too close to her and blow their cigar smoke in her face. She must have gone through at least three cigarettes in the last half hour she’s been talking to them, and that’s just from the stress they’re putting her under. She’s sure they know how uncomfortable she is, based on the way they’re all looking at her.

That’s when the first shot fires. Then two, then three, then she’s ducked below the table still with a half-finished cigarette still between her fingers.

One of the men that was in front of her is now lying on the ground, blood leaking from somewhere in his shoulder. Two of the other three have scattered, and one is trying to hold his ground. He shoots, but clearly isn’t too confident in himself. His hands are shaking, and it’s like he can’t figure out who to aim at. He keeps shooting anyway.

Frisk grabs the gun in her purse. She begins to crawl, hoping that the guy shooting will make at least somewhat of a distraction until she can get to safety. She can hear the sounds of crunching, the sounds of men dying. Looking out from behind the booth she was sat at, she can see men pouring in through the door. Sans, Papyrus and Wings are summoning waves upon waves of bones. They’re pulling men off their feet, crushing them, whatever it takes to get them to stop.

Her finger is on the trigger, she’s trying to make out a single face she recognises. There are monsters, there are men, and who’s who has become a blur of Bones and Not-Bones. She knows that the monsters are not Rats, she didn’t see a single monster when she entered the room. The men are more difficult to determine between. Most of the Rats seem to have scattered at this point, or they’re laying on the ground in pools of blood and whatever else. She watches a man get shot square between the eyes; bone shatters, blood pours out. She wants to vomit, or scream.

She feels arms behind her, pulling her up off the floor. Her eyes dart between the backs of the Bones’ heads; it can’t be one of them. There’s fingers in her hair, pulling her head back to see the face of whoever has grabbed her. Brown eyes meet brown eyes, and the shriek that leaves Frisk’s mouth sounds a lot like Sans’ name.


	14. Spite

Frisk is holding her small handgun as best as she can to Chara’s side, although it’s difficult with the position she’s held in. The way her brother is clutching at her hair hurts, it feels almost like he’s trying to pull it out using her body weight. He’s got a gun to her throat, and this smile on his face.

“Are you scared?” The venom is absolutely dripping out of his lips.

Of course she’s scared. She has absolutely no way to get out of this on her own, she’s not the one with the power here. She’s shaking, trying to push back the tears that so desperately want to come out; she wants to cry, she wants her parents. She tries her best to get the words out.

“Yes. Is that what you wanted?” Her voice is shaking too, there’s no way she wouldn’t be absolutely terrified, “When did you get this mean, Chara?”

She can’t tell if she sounds more scared, or sad. Looking at him, she can barely remember the sweet brother she used to have; who would walk her to school, help her with homework, or cook for her when their parents worked late. He’s nothing like the Chara she knew before.

His gun brushes across her throat, fitting neatly just under her chin. He’s got this sick grin on his face, like he’s enjoying himself. She feels completely helpless, even though she knows she could shoot. She isn’t religious, but she’s sure there aren’t many sins more damning than shooting your own brother. He was meant to be her protector, but instead he stands there with a gun to her throat, just waiting for her to make a move.

She flinches every time she hears a gunshot around her. Each one could be the sound of Sans, Papyrus, or Wings dying. She can hear the desperate groans of the dying men around her. It feels like a twisted version of sitting under the kitchen table with Chara, except this time it’s him instigating the chaos around her.

“Mobs make ya mean, Frisk. If you’re gonna be running with those monsters, ya gotta get with the programme,” The gun is pushed against her windpipe so hard she flinches, “Ain’t no mercy with people like me. Monsters like them. It’s kill or be killed, little sister.”

_Frisk remembers the sound of shattering glass, her and Chara huddled up underneath their parents’ bed. She was shaking, trying not to let her crying come out too loudly, in case they were getting broken into._

_“Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna protect you, okay?”_

That boy seems so far removed from the man she sees now.

“I’m feelin’ kind though, since you’re my sister and all. How about instead of killing ya, you just tell me everythin’ you know about what the Bones have planned and maybe I can let ya go.” The pressure on her throat is lessened, but the pain doesn’t subside from her scalp, “Of course, if ya don’t wanna talk, I can just shoot ya here and now. This life is gonna kill ya even if I don’t.”

That’s when the tears really start. She doesn’t _know_ anything about what they’re planning, she isn’t a part of this. She’s only here as a prop to make a deal go smoother, to help the Bones’ reputation with humans. She can’t even think straight anymore, it’s all flashes of memories and words she can’t get out.

“Please stop this, I don’t know anything about what they’ve got planned or what this deal was for!” She’s sobbing, unable to keep fighting it any longer, “You have to believe me. I’ve got nothing to do with this, I’m only here to show the Rats that the Bones don’t hurt innocent people.”

Chara just twists her hair in his hand, eliciting another shriek from Frisk. The gun is pushed back against her throat, and hard. It hurts to breathe, she can’t even stand on her own two feet anymore.

“Don’t hurt innocent people? Thought you hated the mobs, little sister. Just like mom and dad, the picture of innocence. Yet, they brought you here. Dressed you up like a whore just to sweeten the deal? Doesn’t sound like they have your best interests at heart.”

What would he know about her best interests? He’s been gone for so long, he doesn’t even know what she does or what she likes anymore. If he saw her in the street, she bets he wouldn’t even recognise her.

“They’re not the ones holding a gun to my throat.” It hurts to get the words out, her windpipe feels like it’s being crushed.

It’s something like pity or desperation that flashes across his face for a second. For just a moment, her brother is still in there somewhere. She can’t tell if he believes him, or if he’s just sad that he’s going to kill his little sister in cold blood. It turns into a pained scowl, as bones dig into his sides. He drops his gun, falling to his knees. Frisk drops too, no longer being held at the hair.

There’s still the sounds of gunshots above them. There’s fear struck across his whole face. Sans is behind him, breathing heavily – the bones seem to appear and disappear at will. His face is that of a killer, he’s barely broken a sweat. There’s no sign of mercy on his face. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to kill Chara right in front of her face.

Frisk grabs her brother, even though he’s at least a foot taller than her. She pulls him into a tight hold, shoulders shaking. Using the last of her strength, she rolls him over her to try and shield him from the onslaught of bones and magic coming at him.

The pain is incredible. Bone after bone connects with her back, each one making her cry out in pain. She feels like she’s going to die here, if Sans doesn’t stop.

“It’s okay,” She’s grimacing into the top of Chara’s head, “We’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna protect you, okay?”

“Stop it. We’re not kids anymore. You don’t get to be the hero, you’re still just a little girl.” The words hurt more than anything he’s said before, “Send my regards to your boyfriend.”

Chara’s already gotten up, and is running away from her and from Sans. The bones have stopped now, and she’s just lying there unable to get up. The gunshots have stopped too. Her vision is blurring, like she’s drunk or dying. Sans is at her side, picking her up. It’s painful, but she can’t do anything to stop him. He’s muttering apologies to her, that he didn’t mean to hurt her, Chara was going to kill her and he didn’t know what else to do. Something drips onto her face, she can’t tell if it’s her tears or his. Then, she blacks out.


	15. Mercy

Frisk wakes up groggy, and in pain. As she adjusts, she realises that she’s back at the Bones house, completely alone. She slowly sits up, biting her lip because of the pain that radiates from her shoulders. There’s light streaming in through the windows, but she can’t tell what time it is. At some point, she’s been changed into her night dress. Slowly, she starts getting up. It’s utter agony, but she’s really hungry and should probably eat something.

She slips a robe on, and goes downstairs to see if she could get something to eat. Her head is pounding like she has a hangover. Lifting her arm to get a glass of water sends shooting pain down her spine, and she groans. She can’t bear it, and the stairs look too intimidating to do a second time, so she makes do with sitting down and hoping that somebody is home to help her.

She falls asleep on the couch for a little while, and is woken up to cigarette breath and bony hands brushing her hair from her face. She doesn’t even remember falling asleep, coming down the stairs really tired her out.

“Sans? Is that you?” Her throat is dry and her voice is croaky.

She goes to lift her arms to touch his face to make sure she’s not dreaming, but it hurts too much. She winces when she does it and drops her hands. She’s still absolutely exhausted. Now her vision is clear, she can see Sans in front of her. He looks sad. She smiles at him, although it’s somewhat weak. She’s alive though, and that’s all she can ask for. Sans looks like he’s been crying, with the bone around his eye sockets tinged blue.

“Oh god, Frisk.” He sinks to his knees, clasping her hands in his, “Frisk, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t notice that it was you. I hurt ya real bad, a-and you’ve been out for _days_ , and I wasn’t sure when you were gonna come ‘round, and-“

“Sans. It’s fine. I was the one that got in the way.” She rolls her neck to try and get the stiffness out, “Can you get me some water, please?”

Sans is jumping up, rushing to get her a glass. He seems really shaken up by what happened, and Frisk feels bad. She knows it isn’t his fault that he hurt her, the bones were meant for Chara. She just protected him because she hated seeing her brother in pain, even though just moments before he’d been holding her by the hair with a pistol to her throat.

She brings the glass of water to her lips, sipping it as best as she can with the pain in her arm. Sans can tell she’s in pain, and still looks guilty. He’s just gently stroking her back as she drinks. He offers her a cigarette, and she gladly takes it. Maybe it will help with her headache, she doesn’t know when the last time she had a smoke nor how long she’s been unconscious for.

“Pap’s been worried too. Even Wings came by yesterday to check on ya. I got in a _lot_ of shit about it, but it’s not half as bad as how I felt. I really fucked up back there. I wouldn’t blame ya if ya hated me after all of this.” Sans looks down at his own cigarette, his eye-lights dim, “But I gotta ask, doll. Why did’ya protect him? He woulda shot ya if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Frisk thinks about it for a moment, the memories flashing through her mind. It still feels so surreal.

“I don’t know,” She hesitates for a moment, “For a second I thought he might still be my brother. I guess I was wrong.”

She still doesn’t think that she would do it differently, though. Maybe he might return the favour somewhere down the line. She doubts it, but she can hope. She doesn’t know if she was right to let him go, but she didn’t want to watch her brother die in front of her. She can’t even imagine how that would feel.

Sans just nods. He rolls the cigarette in between his fingers, looking around at her. The silence is almost deafening, there’s ringing in her ears.

“I need’ta be honest with ya. When we were out in that café, I saw Chara following us. That’s why I rushed us out so fast. Didn’t wanna freak ya out when ya looked real happy with that dress, but I didn’t know he’d show up to see the Rats.” He sighs, “I wanna make it up to ya, though. Can I take ya out when ya feel better? Doesn’t have’ta be anythin’ fancy if you’re not comfortable with that. But I wanna set things straight. How’s about I cook for ya tonight, I swear I’m better than Paps is. Swear I won’t make ya spaghetti either.”

He makes an effort to smile at Frisk. She feels a little better, although she hates seeing him like this. It feels wrong to see him, usually so calm and collected, but looking like a shell of a man. Despite the pain, Frisk manages to move herself so her head is resting on his shoulder. He’s colder than usual, but he wraps an arm around her anyway. The sigh he lets out sounds like one of relief.

“So, ya don’t hate me?” He asks, tentatively.

She shakes her head, “Of course I don’t. You were trying to protect me. I just got in the way of that.”

They remain like that for a while, just sitting in silence. Sans is warming up slowly. She’d almost forgotten how comfortable he was. Even though she’s in pain, it’s started to fade over time. Still, she’s tired. Maybe it’s her body healing.

“How bad’s my back looking?” She asks, “It feels pretty bruised.”

Sans grimaces at the thought of it. It must be bad.

“Uh, I didn’t break any skin. It’s pretty bad though, you’ll be mendin’ for quite a while I think. Ya shouldn’t really be outta bed, not that I could stop ya doing whatever ya wanted. Don’t recommend workin’ until it’s healed a bit though.” His fingers brush over her shoulders lightly, “In the best way possible, can I take ya back to bed? I’ll bring up somethin’ to eat for ya too. Ya should be restin’.”

The thought of walking up the stairs makes Frisk groan. It was hard enough getting down them, let alone walking all the way back up. She doesn’t really get a choice though, as Sans is gently picking her up. It hurts, but she can tell he’s doing his best to be careful with her back. She loops her arms around his neck, and presses her face against his collarbone. When he sets her down in bed, she flinches. He even tucks her in, and brings her a glass of water and a sandwich.

“Please don’t go,” Frisk says, as Sans goes to leave her, “I don’t want to be stuck here alone.”

He looks surprised, but nods and comes back to sit at the edge of the bed while she eats. She can’t remember ever really being sick before, so she’s never had to stay in bed for so long. He smiles at her.

“I’ll stay as long as ya want me here, dollface. If ya start feeling better later, ya can come downstairs to eat with me ‘nd Paps too. He’s been worried sick about ya. He even took ya fancy outfit to tailors to get it repaired, ‘nd the shoes cleaned so that ya can wear it again if ya wanted to. It’s yours, by the way. Even when ya leave here, it’s yours to keep. No strings attached.”

She thanks him, and smiles back. The longer she lies there, the more tired she gets. She was told to rest, and she’s not going to go against Sans’ orders – he seems to know what’s best right now. As she falls asleep again, Sans kisses her softly on the forehead.

“G’night, dollface. I’ll wake ya up when I’ve finished up dinner.”


	16. Recovery

Sans wakes her up gently when dinner is ready. She still feels sore, but the rest has helped somewhat. Frisk decides that she’s okay to go to downstairs for dinner, with Sans’ help. He doesn’t have to carry her, but she does need to lean on him in order to comfortably walk down the stairs. Papyrus looks elated to see her on her feet.

“TINY HUMAN LADY, I SEE YOU ARE WALKING AGAIN. THIS IS GOOD NEWS.” Papyrus has stood up to welcome her to the dinner table, “ARE YOU IN NEED OF ANY PAINKILLERS? I CAN GET YOU SOME FROM THE MASTER BATHROOM IF YOU WOULD LIKE.”

She smiles and nods, “Yes please, Papyrus. Thank you.”

Being able to eat with the brothers makes everything feel a little more normal. Sans has made this glazed ham that’s actually really good – why doesn’t he cook more often? She can't tell exactly what it is about the food, but it makes her feel better almost immediately. Maybe it's that between all the sleeping she’s been doing, it turns out she hasn’t actually eaten a proper meal in about two days. She’d have wolfed down even Papyrus’ spaghetti with how hungry she is, although she much prefers this. The painkillers don’t take long to affect her, she’s never really been one to take medicine when she doesn’t need to.

“IT IS GOOD THAT YOU ARE EATING, TINY HUMAN LADY. SANS AND I HAVE BEEN WORRIED ABOUT YOUR RECOVERY, BUT IT SEEMS YOU ARE DOING WELL,” Papyrus is yelling into his ham between mouthfuls, “HOWEVER YOU MUST REMAIN AT REST FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS TO ALLOW YOUR FRAGILE BODY TO HEAL PROPERLY. HUMANS TAKE MUCH LONGER TO RECOVER FROM INJURY THAN MONSTERS, SO IT IS IMPORTANT THAT WE LOOK AFTER YOU FOR NOW.”

The brothers have been doting on her the whole time she’s been staying there, sure. However, that is nothing compared to the amount they are now. She hasn’t lifted a finger to do anything since she woke up. Sans has even taken to brushing her hair for her in the mornings so that she doesn’t have to lift her arms to do so. Anything that requires her arms to be lifted more than a couple of inches is done by one of the brothers.

Wings comes by after three days of her being awake. He’s quiet, as he usually seems to be, but he does express that he’s happy she’s getting better.

“It was simply careless of me to discount the threat of the Asgores butting in on our deal. Because of my carelessness, you got hurt. For this, I apologise profusely. I must admit that until then, you were doing fantastically. It is a shame that the night ended so sourly. Should anything go awry in your recovery, I will personally finance any and all medical intervention. We did not feel it was necessary before, after the accident we had a doctor come in to assess you and we were informed that everything should go smoothly. I understand that your safety is important to my brothers, and therefore is important to me. Again, you have my deepest apologies, Frisk. I will not be staying long; however I have asked my brothers to inform me should you need anything they cannot provide to you.” Wingdings’ voice is monotone, and if Frisk hadn’t heard him speak previously, she’d have thought he was merely saying these things as a formality. It is clear to her that he means every word he says.

He doesn’t stay long, but it’s nice knowing that any medical bills she racks up because of this will be taken care of. Those can get expensive, and Frisk really doesn’t have that kind of money to throw at a back injury. After Wings leaves, she is once again left with the two younger brothers. Papyrus is called to go on some kind of job for a few hours, which leaves her and Sans alone again.

He is holding a wrapped bag of ice to her back, trying to reduce some of the swelling. It’s gone down a lot in the last few days, but she is still very bruised. The ice feels soothing, and the pain has been reducing every day since she woke up. She’s even able to walk around unaided sometimes now, and she isn’t so exhausted most of the time.

She can tell Sans still hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened.

“I’ve hurt a lotta people, dollface,” He starts, “Reckon I’ve killed a thousand evil men ‘nd monsters durin’ my time. Tell you what, though; I ain’t never hurt a civilian. Closest I ever came was pourin’ that beer on the monster in Grillby’s that wouldn’t leave ya alone.”

Despite everything she’s heard and everything she’s seen of mobs in the past, Frisk can’t help but believe him. He’s always been so gentle with her, even when he was hitting on her while she was working. Even when she screamed at him, and her soul was right there in front of him, all he did was hold it for a few seconds. Hell, even when he had her naked and vulnerable, he asked her permission before doing _anything_.

“Seein’ you hurt, and knowing that I’m the one responsible for it? It’s eatin’ me up. I know ya don’t blame me for it, seems like you’d do anythin’ to forgive somebody, but I should’a been more in control,” He continues, she can feel his hand shaking, “Seein’ ya like that though, ya looked goddamn terrified of your brother. Made somethin’ in me snap, I wasn’t thinkin’ right. I wanted him dead, then and there, just for scarin’ ya so bad.”

Frisk wants to turn to face him, but that’s still too much for her right now. She reaches back to hold his free hand, squeezing it softly. It takes him a second to squeeze back. The hand holding the ice to her back has stopped shaking so much, and when the ice eventually warms up too much to be of any use, it is removed entirely.

She leans back against him a little, waiting for permission to put her full weight against him. When two bony arms snake around her waist, she takes that as an agreement. She never stops being surprised by how warm he is, it feels almost unnatural that a skeleton radiates so much heat, but it isn’t unwelcome. He slots his chin over her shoulder, gently so he doesn’t hurt her.

“You’re really somethin’ else,” He mutters, “Ain’t never met somebody who’d still let me hold ‘em after the kinda shit I’ve done. ‘Specially not somebody who came from a family like yours. Not sayin’ ya parents were anythin’ but great to ya, but from what Chara said, ya dad ain’t big on monsters.”

Frisk laughs as much as she can without hurting herself, “He’d have a heart attack seeing me with you. He’s backwards, but he just wants the best for me. If he saw me happy with a monster, he’d come around eventually.”

Sans presses a kiss to her shoulder, smiling against her. This would feel romantic, if it weren’t for the bruises creeping up her back.

“What about a monster in a gang?” He asks, “Ya think he could come around to that?”

She can feel her face heating up. She’s not so sure about that, her father has always been firmly against gangs and getting involved with any activities. She can’t even imagine how he would feel ‘losing’ both of his kids to different mobs, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Stranger things have happened, haven’t they? I’m sure I can ask him when I find him.”

He just nods and presses three more kisses to her shoulder.

“What about Wings? What do you think he’d say about you getting involved with a human? A _civilian_ human?” Frisk feels strange asking, she’s sure this is all hypothetical, but it still feels incredibly real.

Sans chuckles in response, “I think he’d be more mad if I got involved with a human from a different mob. As long as no civilians get hurt, he doesn’t care about what I do. Hell, as long as I do the jobs he gives me, I don’t think he cares either way.”

She can’t think of anything to say back, so she just links her fingers between his and shuts her eyes. Between the painkillers, the ice, and Sans, she’s comfortable. She feels safe wrapped up like this, it’s a feeling she wishes she could hold onto forever. If time could stop and leave her frozen like this until the end of the world, she can’t say she’d be upset about it. Sleep is slowly inching its way through her body, and she welcomes it. Even if she wakes up alone, it’s worth it just to stay this way for a little longer.


	17. Back to Work

It’s been about two weeks since Frisk woke up. She’s argued with Sans and Papyrus for the last three days about going back to work; it’s been nice being essentially waited on, but she’s going stir-crazy just lounging about doing nothing when she is perfectly capable of walking and taking care of herself. Papyrus seems to be under the impression that humans are a lot more fragile than they are, and Sans just seems worried about her. She’s been going up and down the stairs on her own for days now, though, and she’s even been getting dressed instead of just staying in her nightdress all day for at least a week now.

“If ya feel well enough to go back to work, do ya feel well enough to come out to lunch with me?” Sans is making this _face_ at her that’s something like a lost puppy, but a lost puppy skeleton.

She can’t say no to him, especially not with the cheeky grin he’s got on to go with those puppy-skeleton eyes. He’s already promised to take her out, and she might as well have a good time before going back to work, not that she doesn’t miss Grillby’s. She’s just acutely aware of the clientele, although after Sans’ performance on the last night she worked they might treat her nicer.

She foregoes the jacket, since it’s a warm day outside, and follows Sans to the car. It’s a lot brighter outside than it was inside, so it takes Frisk a few moments to adjust to the light. She feels like a vampire stepping out into the sun for the first time, briefly blinded. Once she’s in the car, it becomes easier to see again because of the shade. Sans is laughing at her, but it doesn’t feel like he’s making fun of her; it must be funny to see a young woman act like she’s never seen the light before.

Sans drives her across town, just to a café. It seems substantially less well-to-do than the one he took her to last time, and offers foods that she both knows the pronunciation of, and what they are made up of. It seems to be mostly trendy sandwiches, but she isn’t opposed to any of them. She ends up getting a Dixieland, and an orange soda. It’s Sans’ treat after all, she isn’t going to turn her nose up at it.

The sandwich is good, and Sans is happily chatting away to her about this and that. He’s also asking her questions about herself. What are her hobbies? Her favourite books? If she could do anything in the world, what would she do? Where would she go?

She laughs a little awkwardly, “I don’t really have any hobbies. Before I met you, I mostly worked all the time. I think the closest thing I got to a hobby was reading during my breaks. I like Fitzgerald, I think This Side of Paradise is my favourite. I like the idea of going to college, maybe to study literature. I don’t think it’s in the cards for me, though. I’m probably just going to keep waiting tables for the rest of my life.”

It doesn’t feel so much like an interrogation though, since Sans is answering the questions too. She learns that he likes to dance, that he doesn’t read much but that he’s interested in science, and that he’d like to get on a boat and go to a different country one day. To her, that’s entirely out of the question. She doesn’t mention this, but she does tell him that she’s never danced for anything in her life.

“What? Never been dancin’ in your whole life?” He looks incredulous, “Do ya know how to dance?”

She shakes her head. When on Earth would she have had time to go dancing? Since she hit adulthood, she’s always worked nights and dance halls aren’t generally open early on in the day. Aside from that, she’s never had anybody to go with. While she’s friendly with everybody in her building, she’s never had the opportunity to build up friendships with people. Well, unless you count conversations at the laundromat.

“That’s it, dollface. I’m teachin’ ya how to dance. After ya done at work, if ya not too beat from it, we’re havin’ a dance lesson.”

She can’t help but laugh at him. It’s not in malice, but the whole concept is so surreal to her. Does he think he’s going to turn her into some kind of Ginger Rogers or something? Again, she still can’t say no to him. Not when he looks so determined to teach her this skill that is apparently essential.

When her eyes land on the clock, she realises that she needs to go and get ready for work. Have they really been in the café that long? Or did they just leave later in the afternoon than she thought? Sans looks too, and mutters out a ‘shit’, hastily getting up to pay for the meal and coffee. The two of them leave the café, and get in the car to go home.

By the time she’s dressed for work, Sans is leaning against her doorframe.

“Now, are ya sure you’re up to workin’ tonight? Grillby can call in other staff if ya need more time to recover,” He’s smoking a cigarette, and watching her, “And I don’t mind bein’ the one to call in for ya.”

She shakes her head, tying her hair back into a bun, “No, I’m fine. I’ve missed work, it’d be nice to get back to normal.”

He’s laughing at her again, and she follows him out to the car.

“Fine, just take it easy. Ya got it? If I hear Grillby’s workin’ ya too hard, we’ll be havin’ some words.” He tosses his cigarette butt, and gets in the drivers’ seat.

The drive to Grillby’s is full of laughing, and bad jokes. It seems like Sans has an endless supply of bone-based puns. Even though they’re awful, it’s hard not to find them funny when it comes out of his mouth. By the time they get there, it’s full of the same-old faces that are there every night. They don’t make a fuss when Frisk walks in with Sans, they probably just think she had vacation time off or something. His arm is around her as he walks her in, and it feels nice that she’s got somebody looking out for her.

“I’ll be by to pick ya up at eleven, okay dollface?” Sans stops for a moment to look at her, “Don’t work too hard, alright? Need ya in good shape for dancin’ later.”

It’s a surprise when he kisses her, but not wholly unwelcome. He gives her a wink before leaving, disappearing back into his car.

Grillby has his eyebrows raised at her, but says nothing except, “Good to see you, Frisk.”

It’s strange to be working again. Still, seeing the regulars again is nice. Grillby hasn’t said too much to Frisk, but it’s clear he’s been worrying about her. He’s especially nice to her this shift, giving her two extra breaks and more fries than usual. Has she lost weight? Her uniform feels a little looser on her than usual, and not being able to eat for two days must have done something to her. Maybe she should work on eating more until she is back to usual.

Sans picks her up at the usual time, and everything seems just as normal as it was before. He can’t stop talking about teaching her how to dance. She’s tired, but she’ll humour him for the evening since she knows it will be difficult to sleep with the food that’s sitting in her stomach.

When they get in, Papyrus either seems to have gone to bed, or to be out somewhere doing Papyrus-type things. Sans has brought a gramophone into the room, and pushed away the chairs so that they have room to dance. The music playing is a soft jazz song she thinks she’s heard before, but couldn’t place it if asked. He holds his hand out to her, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“May I have this dance?”

Frisk is undoubtedly awful at dancing. Her feet don’t move quite fast enough, nor quite graceful enough to move to the beat of the music with any kind of skill. Still, Sans seems pleased enough that she’s trying. They go from faster songs, to slower songs. The slower songs are easier to keep in time with, but Sans continues to fling her around the room. The first time he does it is scary, since she doesn’t expect it, but she learns that Sans isn’t about to throw her into the wall anytime soon.

After a few songs, Frisk kicks off her shoes. It’s much easier to dance without them on, although Sans is still wearing his shoes so she has to be careful not to accidentally get stood on. He’s good at dancing though, and she can see why he likes to do this.

“Now, I can see that ya havin’ fun, but I gotta teach ya how exactly ya wanna move. We’ve had a jig, but I’m gonna teach ya a proper dance now. How’s about I teach ya how to waltz?” He’s holding her tight to him, and she just nods.

The song he puts on has a different beat than any of the previous ones. She can kind of hear it, but it’s difficult to keep up with it. Sans is counting out the beats for her, and he does this until she starts stepping at the right time. When she’s started getting the steps right, Sans dips her down and she screams softly. He’s just laughing at her.

“Don’t worry, dollface, I gotcha.” He brings her back up, and they continue.

They continue dancing for the best part of an hour, before Frisk finally has to tap out. She’s too tired to continue, but she does curl up on the couch with him once Sans has pushed everything back to its usual place. The gramophone is still playing, but it’s been turned down since they stopped dancing. Her head is against his chest and his fingers are curled in her hair.

She yawns softly, pushing herself closer to Sans. His arm is draped around her shoulders, and he kisses the top of her head gently.

“Sorry I didn’t do so well at dancing,” She mumbles, “Never had the opportunity to before.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head, “You did great for a first timer. Reckon the first time I tried to waltz I fell on my ass, and I did that in a dance hall. Tell ya what, next time you got a day off, I’ll take ya out dancing properly. Wear ya nice dress and get some drinks, dance a little and everything. There’s a place close by that don’t mind monsters ‘nd humans comin’ in together.”

Monsters and humans together is relatively unheard of. Frisk only realised that it’s physically possible when she met Sans, and now she’s basically curled up in his lap. If it weren’t for the stark difference between them, this would look like a domestic scene. Her fingers trace patterns down his arm, and she wonders if she’d ever be able to find somebody like Sans again after all this is over. It’s childish to think that he’d stay with her after she’s done being useful to the mob, but she does her best to pretend for now. He’s humming along to the music, and she eventually resigns herself to falling asleep. She’s much too comfortable to get up, but she can hear a car pull into the driveway and Sans tell her that it’s time for bed. Unwilling to move, he just picks her up and takes her to bed himself.

“You’re such a _lazybones_ , dollface,” He laughs, “Or did I tucker ya out too much to move?”

She just yawns in response.


	18. Brand New Job

It’s been over a week since Frisk started working again. After every shift, Sans has taken to teaching her to dance. It’s nice to have a routine, but she doesn’t feel like she’s getting much better at dancing in general. Still, she’s learnt the basic steps of the tango, and he’s been trying to teach her this new dance called the ‘Lindy Hop’ which is going much less smoothly. It’s much faster, and he’s started making her dance in her shoes because she isn’t going to have the opportunity to take them off at a dance hall.

Not that she hasn’t been having fun dancing. Getting better at it is only a side-effect of practice, she’s been doing it because she enjoys it. Even when Papyrus has watched and criticised the two of them for how much noise they make, she’s still thoroughly enjoyed it. The dancing does leave her exhausted, but exercise is good for the body, and fun is good for the soul.

Tonight, Sans is driving her home looking more serious than the previous nights this week. He seems to be smoking more tonight than usual too, like he’s stressed about something. He’s making an effort at small talk, asking about her shift and such, but he can’t keep up the façade for long.

“We got some leads. Wings is comin’ by,” He tosses his cigarette butt out of the window, “Dunno what he’s found though, he wants us all to be there.”

She nods, but says nothing in response. There’s a weight to the air around them, she feels like something big is coming.

When they pull up, Frisk is somewhat hesitant to get out of the car. She can’t stay there forever though, so she just follows close behind Sans. Not too close, though. She’s still unsure about what Wings might think about her _involvement_ with him, and even though Sans said it would be okay, she’s still wary of him. He is a mob boss after all.

“I’m glad to see that you’re doing well, Frisk. I trust that my brothers have been taking good care of you during your recovery, however I am pleased that you have been able to reinstate your employment with Grillby. I certainly don’t think it’s good for a young woman such as yourself to be holed up in a house at all times.” Wingdings is smiling between the three of them; Papyrus seems to have already been having a conversation with him, “I have some information that should prove to be useful.”

Sans pulls her to sit down on the couch. She has a feeling that they aren’t exactly going to be dancing after this conversation. Maybe it’s good news, but she’s come to learn that ‘good news’ is not always inherently good, merely that it comes with the possibility for a good outcome.

“The Asgores are going to have a meeting at the MTT Resort on fifteenth. This is most likely to discuss the fates of those they have been holding for some time now. I have also gained intelligence on where these people might be being held. There are some warehouses between third and fourth, which is our best bet so far.”

She’s lit up a cigarette and is intently listening. If this information is good, then they’ve basically narrowed down a small area where her parents might be.

“DOES THIS MEAN THAT WE WILL BE ABLE TO RESCUE THE TINY HUMAN LADY’S PARENTS? WHAT ABOUT THE OTHERS THAT THE ASGORES HAVE INPRISONED?” Papyrus’ loud voice is a shock after Wings’ calm and steady speech.

Wingdings nods, “All in good time, brother. We still need to learn more before we can have a definitive answer. This is why we need to get some ears inside their meeting. I have managed to pay one of the workers at the bar they plan to go to, and they will allow us to plant somebody inside in order to listen in.”

Against her better judgement, Frisk speaks up immediately. Maybe it’s that she wants to help her parents more than she cares about her own safety, or maybe she just has a bone to pick with Chara and feels like this could be revenge. She isn’t sure. Wingdings doesn’t seem to pleased.

“Frisk, I understand that you are angry at the Asgores, but I do not want to risk you getting hurt again.”

Sans seems to be backing her up though, “Wings, listen. She’s our best bet; she’s a waitress anyway. She’s been workin’ at bars for years, it’s not like it’s much different than what she’s doin’ for Grillby. Don’t think you’ve seen her talk to clientele, but she’s got an iron tongue on ‘er. She ain’t scared of ‘em.”

“I CONCUR WITH SANS. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, THINK THAT IT WOULD BE USEFUL FOR HER TO GO INTO THE RESORT AND BE OUR EARS FOR THE EVENING SINCE SHE WOULD FIT IN BETTER WITH THEIR STAFF THAN EITHER ME OR SANS. I AM ALSO WARY TO TRUST OTHER MEMBERS OF OUR FAMILY, I BELIEVE NONE OF THEM HAVE EVER WORKED IN THAT PARTICULAR KIND OF ENVIRONMENT AND THEREFORE DO NOT HAVE THE CORRECT EXPERIENCE TO MAKE IT BELIEVABLE.”

Wingdings looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment. He isn’t pleased about the situation, and he’s looking Frisk up and down with a concerned expression.

“And what if she is discovered by the Asgores? I don’t doubt that they would be displeased to find out that we are trying to gain intelligence on their affairs.” He makes eye contact with Frisk for a moment, staring intently, “However, if you’re sure that you are the person for the job, I will not argue with you. It is your choice to make, and if my brothers agree with you then I will not contest.”

Sans puts a hand on her back, as she says “Wingdings. With all due respect, my parents are on the line. I want to do everything I can to secure their safety.”

It’s difficult to put into words exactly what she wants to say. This is the closest thing she has for now, although she’d like to be able to explain her motivations better. There are a thousand things going around her head, and the adrenaline from knowing where her parents might be is coursing through her veins.

Wings looks conflicted. His opinion has been swayed, but he doesn’t seem particularly happy about it. He’s likely just worried for her wellbeing, or worried that she’ll screw things up, but either way she’s going to get to the bottom of this even if she has to drag him kicking and screaming to do so.

As naïve as she may seem, Frisk has always been good at getting her own way.


	19. Getting Even

Three days have past since Frisk spoke to Wingdings. Things have mostly settled down in the house, things are back to normal but there’s a certain weight to the air. They all know that this is her first ‘job’ for him, and her first time suggesting she take part in any of their affairs. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. The adrenaline from before has long worn off, leaving her anxious yet determined. She’s done her best to hide her nerves from the brothers, since they’re counting on her to do a good job, but it’s difficult. Especially with Sans, who for the last day and a half has nearly constantly been asking how she’s feeling about the whole thing.

Not that she doesn’t have a plan. She’s got boxes of cigars and cartons of cigarettes, and the best plan she could come up with between shifts. If she is giving them cigarettes, she has an excuse to come back to their table approximately every ten to fifteen minutes. Maybe it’s not the most well-thought-out plan, but it’s simple enough to execute and won’t make her look too overbearing. She doesn’t even know who she’s looking for exactly, but the big shots have been described as a goat lady, a goat man, and a fish lady. She’s sure she’ll know them when she sees them.

Putting on a different establishment’s uniform almost feels like adultery. It’s this black and red number that stops a little too far above the knee for her to be entirely comfortable, but she’s been wearing it for a good two hours now just to get used to it. Sans even wolf-whistled when she got changed, it’s clearly not ladylike in the slightest. Not that ‘ladylike’ has ever really been her goal, but she still feels almost naked.

“Ready?” Sans asks, as she’s picking up her purse, “Got a long night ahead’a ya.”

She follows him to the car, saying nothing. She doesn’t really have anything to say that wouldn’t entirely give away her calm demeanour; in all honesty, she’s absolutely shitting herself. A thousand things could go wrong, but as long as she keeps telling herself it’s just like any other job, she should be alright. She’s already been informed that they have people nearby that will be able to help should things go too pear-shaped, but she doesn’t really want a repeat of last time she saw the Asgores.

Sans kisses her before she gets out of the car and winks at her, “Good luck, dollface.”

It doesn’t fill her with confidence, but it does calm her nerves somewhat.

The bar she is dropped off at is all flashy signs at the front, but she’s going around the back to liaise with her ‘in’. He’s dressed in a suit and seems to be the manager. He’s kind enough to her, but to him it’s probably all just business. Maybe he hates the Asgores as much as her parents do, which is why he would have been persuaded to help Wingdings in this particular situation. When she’s asked about her plan, she just holds out the cigars and cigarettes hopefully, and he nods.

“That should work just fine, remember to take drinks orders too,” He hands her a notepad and pen, “Write them down and bring them to the bar.”

Inside the bar smells like a mix between cheap perfume and bleach. It’s nasty, but she can deal with it for the next few hours if it gives her the information she needs. It’s dimly lit, and everything is an almost garish purple colour. She has no background in interior design, but surely their decorator could have come up with something a little less unpleasant. The man points to the quiet group in the corner, comprised of the monsters that were described to her and a few humans.

“Now, treat ‘em nice or they’ll have our heads.”

She’s never had a bigger, faker smile on before. If she’s learnt anything in her years of working customer service, it’s that a smile goes a long way regardless of who you’re serving. Man, monster, mobster, it doesn’t matter. They all want to see a pretty young lady with a smile on her face bringing them drinks and tobacco throughout their evening.

“Evening, what can I get everybody? Drinks, something to smoke?” The smile is plastered across her face so hard she thinks she’s about to crack.

She doesn’t seem to have interrupted any conversation of particular importance. Just talk of a weapons shipment coming on Tuesday, and some tensions in some of their territories. Still, she makes a mental note to write that down when she takes their orders.

“Whiskey for me, coffee for my darlin’,” The goat-man’s voice is commanding, “Undyne’ll have a water.”

The fish-lady just stares at her, with a sneer on her face. Must not be much a fan of humans. Frisk can’t say she blames her. If she adds up every interaction she’s had in the last few years, she can say with certainty that monsters have been much nicer to her than most humans have been.

“Anything else?” She looks between the monsters, still smiling.

A familiar voice comes from the corner of their booth, “I’ll have a cigarette, ma’am. And a whiskey, if ya don’t mind.”

It stops her dead in her tracks for just a second, when she turns to face her brother. He’s got a blank expression on his face, like this is any other meeting for him. Nice to know he’s got enough weight to be at the table with the bosses. Still, Frisk’s heart is racing. It takes everything she has to snap herself out of it and give him a cigarette from one of her cartons. The eye contact they make lasts just a little too long for her liking, it’s chilling. Yet, he just thanks her and allows her to take their orders to the bar.

While she waits for their drinks, she tries not to watch them too much. She doesn’t want them to catch onto her, but Chara’s presence is more menacing than any mob could be alone. He has the power to let them know she’s a plant at any given time. She doesn’t know why he didn’t tell them immediately. She makes a note of that too, just in case she has to pass a message on to somebody on the outside.

At least bringing them drinks is easy enough. She goes back and forth every fifteen or so minutes to bring them more drinks, to give Chara another cigarette, and most importantly to snoop on what they’re saying.

Over the course of two hours, she has confirmed that they’re holding people in warehouses between third and fourth just like Wings said, that they’re being held there because of unpaid protection fees, and that her parents in particular are being held there because Chara lost them a deal a month ago. It all seems very civil, but just looking at Chara she can tell that he’s uncomfortable. She would be too if she was told it was all her fault that her parents were taken prisoner because of her.

Every so often, Chara looks at her. When she gives him a cigarette, he thanks her politely, and moves on. Every time, it makes her even more uncomfortable. Making eye contact with him makes her even more nervous than before, she can’t tell if she’s looking at her brother or this new version of Chara. The version that has now held a gun to her head twice, that ran away when she tried to protect him. It’s messing with her mind, and she isn’t sure what she can do about it.

Another hour passes, and Frisk is trying her best to piece together the bits of conversation that she’s heard into useful information. Based on what she’s got already, and the snippets she’s picked up, she can tell that they’re losing twenty-seventh to the Banners and fifteenth to the Rats. There’s unrest pretty much everywhere, it seems like nobody likes them anymore. She can tell that the goat-people are worried about that. If their conversation is anything to go by, they might not have anybody left in their districts by the time they’re done rounding up people into their warehouses.

The goat-lady has been gently asking the goat-man to consider the safety of their constituents for the whole night. Frisk feels a bit bad for her, although she is complicit in their actions it seems like she’s trying to sway them towards actually taking care of their people. The fish-lady continues to shoot her down, saying that the humans they have captured are only there because it’s their own fault; they didn’t pay rent, or their protection fees, and therefore they deserve punishment. Chara hasn’t said much the whole evening, it seems like he’s just there to keep the fish-lady in check.

“Undyne, it ain’t proper to talk to ya superiors that way,” He says, “Don’t gotta agree with Toriel, but ya do gotta respect her.”

Over the course of the evening, she learns the names of the people she’s been serving. Undyne is the fish-lady that glares at her every time she brings more drinks to their booth. Toriel is the goat-lady that smiles apologetically after Undyne makes a comment. Asgore is the Big Boss, who runs the whole organisation, and seems to be somewhere in between hating his constituents and caring for them. She also thinks it’s a bit conceited to name a whole gang after yourself, so she’s wary around him.

Still, they’re mostly polite to her aside from Undyne. It’s getting easier to just view this as another day on the job as the night goes on, they don’t act much different from any other table she’s waited on. The only difference is how attentive she has to be to them, not just because they could kill her on the spot, but also because she has to get every bit of information she can. They’re talking quietly so she really has to strain to listen, but being able to write things down helps. She checks her notes when she brings their orders up to the bar.

  * Weapons shipment Tuesday – ex-military equip
  * CHARA IS HERE
  * People being held in warehouses between third and fourth – not paid rent/protection
  * Conflict on twenty-seventh (Banners) and fifteenth (Rats)
  * Lots of people in warehouses, streets are bare



The Asgores remain at their booth for a total of four hours before they begin to leave. Undyne says nothing to her, just sneers at her the same way she’s done all night. Asgore thanks her for her time serving them and compliments her on how attentive she’s been to their needs; he even tells her that she should get a raise from her boss. Toriel spends about fifteen minutes apologising for how rude Undyne has been to her and telling her to make sure she gets home safe. Chara spends a few moments just looking at her before he leaves.

“C’mon human, don’t get all doe-eyed for the waitress. You’ve had all night to stare at the wimp, we gotta get going,” Undyne is basically dragging him away.

Chara laughs, just like he used to when Frisk would make fun of him as kids. A sadness washes over her for a few moments, it seems like he’s truly abandoned her now. He’s sharing laughs with people that would kill her if they knew what she was doing, and yet he didn’t tell them. It gives her hope that her brother really is still in there somewhere, deep down. He can’t be wholly bad, he’s probably just as worried about their parents as she is.

When she goes to clear the table, she notices a note left where Chara was sat. She balls it up in her hand, and goes to wait outside to get picked up. The alley she’s in is cold, and she forgot to bring a jacket. By the time Sans rolls around in the car, she’s crying – either from the stress of the evening, or the stress of being so close to Chara again.

“Hey, hey. Dollface, what’s wrong?” Sans is rushing out of the car to cover her with his jacket and get her into the passenger seat, “C’mon dollface, ya gotta tell me or I can’t do nothin’ to help.”

Between sobs, she manages to hand him the note.

_Now we’re even. Thanks for saving me._


	20. Darkness and Dreams

It takes until they get back to the house for Frisk to calm down enough to choke out exactly what made her start crying so violently in the first place. Sans has seen the note, and she’s tried to explain exactly what happened; Chara just spent the whole night watching her, not really saying anything. She explains how he didn’t rat her out or even speak to her properly at all, how uncomfortable it made her, but that her brother _might still be in there somewhere_.

“Listen, I don’t want ya to get ya hopes up too high. Maybe he’s still a decent man, or maybe he’s just repaid the favour.” Sans really isn’t helping, but at least he’s being realistic, “Either way, he’s nobody ya should be cryin’ over, dollface.”

They sit in the car for a while, for Frisk to compose herself. She knows that Wingdings is going to be there, and she wants to be able to succinctly explain to him what happened and what she heard without bursting into tears again. She’s stopped shaking now, having pulled Sans’ jacket tight around herself. It’s almost longer than the dress she’s wearing, a thick tweed material that offers more warmth than the rest of the clothes she has on. She dries her eyes and tells Sans she’s ready.

Walking into the house, she sees Wings and Papyrus sat at the couches, just chatting about this or that. It feels like walking into a family home rather than a mob house, but that probably stems from them being actual brothers that grew up together. It’s comforting to know that the three of them actually care about each other.

“AH, IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU, TINY HUMAN LADY. DID EVERYTHING GO ACCORDING TO PLAN?” Papyrus has stood up to welcome her, almost dragging her to the couch to continue the conversation there.

Sans is grinning, following behind her, “Well, she came out without a scratch on ‘er. Seems like a good sign to me.”

She nods, at least she has her health. That’s more than she could say last time she saw her brother, or any of the other members of that particular gang. As she sits down, she slides her notes over to Wingdings, who looks over them.

“Yes, I’ve managed to get some information I feel is pertinent to the issue,” She starts, “Firstly, Wings was right about their warehouses. They’re keeping what seems like a lot of people there, mostly for monetary reasons.”

“Did they say how many they are holding captive?” Wings has taken out a pen and is writing in his own notebook, occasionally glancing at the rushed notes she made whilst at the bar.

“No. Based on what they said, I can only imagine it’s a lot though, in some districts it seems like they barely have anybody left on the streets,” She’s only just noticed how the three brothers are staring intently at her; even Papyrus is silent when she speaks, “They’ve also got a weapons shipment coming on Tuesday. Ex-military equipment, probably to deal with some trouble they’re having with the Rats and the Banners on fifteenth and twenty-seventh.”

Wingdings nods along as she speaks, it looks like he’s drawing up a plan of what to do about all of this. She doesn’t know if his intentions are good, or if he’s merely looking to capitalise on the Asgore’s weakness. Either way, she’d rather he be in charge than any of the other gangs, if she must choose between the four of them. At least Wings has some semblance of morality about him, and she can personally attest to the kindness of his brothers.

After he’s done writing, Wings smiles at her.

“You’ve done a good job, Frisk. I have one more question, however. You’ve written that your brother was amongst those at the bar tonight, yes?” He looks uncertain about how to phrase exactly what he wants to say, but it’s just for a moment, “Are you certain he did not reveal your presence to Asgore?”

She hesitates, but hands him the note Chara left at the booth. She feels like she might cry again, but she tries to focus on what Sans said; he’s not worth crying over. Even if he repaid his favour, she has no idea what he plans to do if he sees her doing something similar again.

“Don’t think ya need to worry ‘bout that, Wings,” Frisk is pleased that Sans is the one speaking, she’s not sure she’d have been able to say anything about him, “Remember how she saved his ass before? Looks like he’ll keep it hush-hush to repay ‘er for it.

She smiles at Sans, silently thanking him for doing the talking instead of her. Chara is still an incredibly sore subject for her, despite all the love she holds for him it’s difficult to even think about him as he is right now. People change, but it’s hard to look at your brother knowing he has no issue threatening your life.

“Well, it’s no matter. We have the relevant information now and can make plans from there. I suggest you get some rest, Frisk. You’ve certainly had a long night. I would also like to take my leave now, as it’s late and I have business to attend to in the morning.”

Wingdings doesn’t stay to talk any longer, he says his goodbyes and leaves quickly. Papyrus asks Frisk if she wants any spaghetti, but she doesn’t think she can stomach anything right now. Even though she’s been on her feet all night, she doesn’t feel hungry at all. She bids goodnight to the two brothers and takes her leave. Her whole body is tired, she can barely muster the energy to climb the stairs. Curling up in bed feels like magic, her whole body relaxes when she hits the mattress.

The darkness Frisk finds herself feels more like an affliction than a comfort. She is sure she’s asleep, and yet so awake. Movement is impossible, she feels like she is being pinned to the bed by the chest. Her breathing speeds up as panic sets in. When she dares herself to open her eyes, her brother’s hand is pushing down against her lungs. No matter what she does, even her fingers won’t move. She tries to scream, but her voice just isn’t working.

She doesn’t know how she knows it’s Chara. It’s too dark to really see anything, but there’s a familiar mop of brown hair hanging down over her face. He’s not saying a word, just pressing down so hard on her chest that she can barely breathe. She can feel her whole body drenched in sweat as his hands creep up her neck and latch on to her throat, clenching tightly.

It takes her a few moments to come to terms with being choked. She feels like she’s dying, and if the crushing feeling in her windpipe is anything to go by, she is. Her wrists are pinned down too, presumably by Chara’s knees, keeping her still. There’s nothing she can do but wait for that oppressive darkness to take her. She tries to scream out, for _anybody_ to help her, for Chara to stop. She isn’t sure.

First, she manages to move her feet. Then her legs. She bolts up, letting out the most blood-curdling shriek she’s ever heard in her life. The room is empty, aside from her. It’s still pitch black, the darkness still cruel and cold. The sound of pounding footsteps along the corridor is nearly deafening, and the door slams open. Light streams in it, and Sans is there holding a three-foot long bone. She doesn’t know where it goes, but he rushes towards her and it’s gone.

“What happened?” He looks panicked, eye-lights darting around the room looking for the intruder, “Are ya okay?”

She does her best to catch her breath, wiping forehead. Her whole face is drenched. Has she been crying, or is it just sweat? She pulls the blanket up to her chin, trying to get the words out. It’s difficult to speak. Just moments ago she was sure she was dying, and yet she’s just fine. There isn’t a mark on her from being held down. Judging by how Sans is still fully dressed, it hasn’t even been that long. Surely he would have noticed an intruder.

“Think ya just had a bad dream, dollface. Want me to draw ya a bath?” He’s stroking her hair, trying to get her to calm down.

She just nods, and he disappears into the adjacent bathroom. A while later, he comes back and helps her up. Her legs are weak, shaking from the adrenaline that pumped through her from the moment she woke up. She doesn’t know whether to just get undressed then and there or wait for Sans to leave; since they slept together, she’s not really been sure of what to do with herself around him. Sometimes, it feels so natural to lean into him, and at other times she is reminded that they are the only people that know about it. What would everybody else think of it?

His hands brush her shoulders, gently pressing into the muscle for a moment. She winces a little, having not realised how tense she is.

“Tell ya what, after that bath I’ll sort out that back. Seems like ya stressed yourself out.” He wraps his arms around her properly, just holding her steady, “Try to relax, dollface. Ain’t nothin’ gettin’ past me or Paps. Swear on my soul.”

She leans against him, shutting her eyes for a moment. Nodding, she tries her best at a smile. She’s still shaken up, but she knows that neither of the brothers would let anything like that happen to her, it’s just not in their nature. She turns around, her own arms going around Sans’ neck.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.” She looks up at him, and he smiles back at her.

A quick kiss later, and he’s left her to her privacy and steaming hot bath. That sweat needs to come off one way or another, and she’s sure she isn’t exactly looking her best at the moment. Her cheap rose soap got replaced at some point, with another brand. She can even see the real rose petals inside it. It’s not the same brand as her mother uses, but it feels nice on the skin and the scent is certainly nicer than the one she brought with her, if not slightly more delicate.

She lounges in the tub for a while, trying to wash the nightmare away from her body and hair. The hot water allows her to relax for a while, letting her muscles come slightly undone from the tight knots they were in when she woke up. If she had the choice, she’d never leave. The water does cool down over time though, and she eventually resigns herself to leaving it behind. When he drew the bath, Sans had left her a clean shirt to wear instead of the sweat-soaked nightdress she woke up in.

It must be one of his. It’s much too big to be a shirt on her, hitting her mid-thigh. It also smells suspiciously like him; a faint hint of cologne and washing powder. As strange as she feels wearing it, it’s comfortable and dry which is good enough for her.

She re-enters the bedroom, hair tied back from her face while it dries. The sheets have been changed on the bed, and a hot cup of some kind of herbal tea awaits her at the nightstand. Sans is already sitting at the end of the bed. She joins him, just sitting in silence as she leans her head against his shoulder bone.

He shuffles to sit behind her and gets to work on her shoulders, rubbing in small circles. It hurts a little, but she can tell it’s doing some good since every time he moves to a different location the one he was rubbing before feels wonderfully numb and loose. He works his way across her back, from shoulder to small. It’s never crossed her mind that she’s always tense before, but now she knows what the alternative is she isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to go back.

By the times Sans is finished, Frisk feels like a new woman entirely. Her back has never hurt less in her life, and she feels marvellously floppy. She lies down, relaxing fully for what feels like the first time in forever. She shuts her eyes and basks in the comfort of the clean sheets, as Sans runs his fingers through her hair.

“I’ll stay with ya ‘til ya fall asleep,” He whispers, “Not gonna let anythin’ hurt ya. Promise.”

She nods and allows herself to eventually fall back to the safe warmth of sleep.


	21. Hide and Seek (reprise)

When Frisk wakes up, she notices Sans completely passed out sat up at the end of the bed. He jolts awake when she sits up, muttering something about an intruder. He’s holding one of his magical bones in each fist, flailing wildly until he realises that the movement was just her. It takes him a few moments to fully calm himself and realise that it’s about halfway through the afternoon. He rubs the top of his skull, trying to straighten himself out.

“Uh, sorry dollface. Swear I wasn’t out for more than ten minutes,” That pale blue tinge has made itself known at the high points of his cheeks, “Half an hour, tops.”

She can’t help but laugh at him. She still doesn’t feel entirely better after her rough night, but watching him wake up like that has her nearly in stitches. There’s even tears rolling down her cheeks from it, and she keeps apologising for laughing so much. Yet, she can’t seem to stop herself. It doesn’t take Sans long to start laughing too, he’s infected by how hilarious the whole situation is.

They’re making so much noise that Papyrus starts banging on the door.

“EITHER KEEP IT DOWN OR TELL ME WHAT IS SO FUNNY.” His voice sends Frisk into a deeper fit of laughter that she can’t explain, “SANS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE TINY HUMAN LADY’S BEDROOM? YOU AREN’T PLANNING ANYTHING NEFARIOUS, ARE YOU?”

It’s hard for Sans to respond through the laughter. He keeps getting half a word out, before completely losing it again. He’s slapping his hand against his knee, trying to tell Papyrus that he had come in after Frisk’s nightmare, but he never makes it more than three words in. Papyrus, getting bored, just slams his way into the room and stares at them.

“WHAT IS SO FUNNY?” He looks understandably confused by the pair, who keep staring at each other and completely breaking again ever few moments.

It takes them even longer to explain exactly what happened to make them find themselves in such fits of laughter. Papyrus even laughs at Sans, calling him lazy for falling asleep on the job. He does look a bit concerned for Frisk though, hearing she had such a vivid nightmare, and suggests they do something to cheer her up. He immediately suggests hide and seek again, but with him as the seeker as Sans was so useless at actually looking for him last time.

The two agree, if only to keep him satiated. It’s kind of sweet that he likes playing these little kid games so much, or maybe he just thinks it’s what Frisk wants to do. She’ll entertain him though, as she’s lived in the house for so long she’s at least learnt a couple other places to hide than just under the bed.

“Sure, Papyrus. But first, the two of you need to _get out_ , I’m still not dressed!” Frisk shoos the two brothers out of the room, so she has time to actually get herself decent.

When she comes out into the living room, Papyrus is arguing with Sans about the rules and exactly how long he should be giving them to hide. They’re bickering like children, and Frisk giggles at them from the top of the stairs. Both of them turn to glare at her, and go back to their argument.

When they eventually settle their difference and decide on sixty seconds to hide, Papyrus covers his eye sockets and starts counting. Even though Frisk is doing her best to find the right place to hide, Sans keeps appearing behind her. No matter the amount of scolding, he continues to follow her, squishing himself into uncomfortable positions. He’s just messing with her, or maybe he wants the game to be over quickly, but she can’t help but laugh every time he follows her into a wardrobe or under a table.

With just five seconds left, Frisk pushes herself between a closet and the wall. She’s sucking in with everything she has, trying not to move. Sans has made the sensible decision to just lie underneath a rug, making a very Sans-shaped lump on the floor. It takes all her self-control not to burst into another fit of giggles at him blatantly not trying.

When Papyrus enters the room, he yells at Sans for ‘ruining the game’ by being lazy. It takes him nearly five minutes of yelling to realise he still hasn’t found Frisk and runs to elsewhere in the house to try his luck since she wouldn’t be ‘stupid enough to hide in the same room’.

She catches her breath, trying not to burst into fits of laughter. She’s quickly silenced as Sans pushes himself between the closet and the wall next to her. He presses a finger to her lips, gripping her wrist roughly with his other hand. It makes her jump, her heart beating out of her chest. She’s so flat against the wall, she has nowhere to go. He tugs on her arm gently, pulling her out from behind the closet and into his arms.

Her face is beetroot red, pressed up against Sans’ chest. He tells her to be quiet in a soft whisper and kisses her hard. It surprises her, sure, but the advance is not necessarily unwelcome. She can hear Papyrus downstairs searching every room meticulously for her, it probably won’t be long until he comes back to this room. Even with all the alone time in the world, Sans has possibly picked the worst possible time to initiate any kind of intimacy. Still, it’s impossible to begin to get a word in edgeways between all of the kissing.

That isn’t to say she isn’t enjoying this. If every kiss and kind gesture before this sent hot sparks of electricity through her, this feels more akin to a thunderstorm. Sans is walking her backwards to gently press up against the wall, when she catches her ankle against the closet that at some point became slightly dislodged. It causes her to stumble and fall backwards, bringing Sans down with her in a heap. The crash of their two bodies hitting the floor sends Papyrus running in.

“SANS. WHY ARE YOU ON TOP OF THE TINY HUMAN LADY?”

Frisk is rifling through every excuse she can think of, but instead of actually saying words a nervous laugh comes out. Sans’ face is bright blue now, like he also can’t think of a single excuse as to why they’re draped over each other on a hardwood floor.

“DID SHE GET STUCK BEHIND THE CLOSET?” Papyrus is staring at her accusingly, “TINY HUMAN LADY, PLEASE BE MORE CAREFUL WITH YOUR HIDING SPOTS IN FUTURE. IT’S UNLADYLIKE TO NEED TO BE CONTINOUSLY RESCUED BY MY BROTHER FROM THE PRECARIOUS LOCATIONS YOU CHOOSE.”

At that point, the three of them have burst into teary-eyed laughter; she knows Papyrus isn’t actually mad at her, he’s just wonderfully innocent in his thought process. Sans has removed himself from her person, still sat on the floor, laughing too. Even if it wasn’t how he intended it to, Papyrus’ silly game of hide and seek has certainly made her feel better.


	22. Division

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unannounced hiatus on this! While I don't believe that I'll be able to post daily updates, they will be more regular from now on. Thanks for waiting!

Even after her night at the bar working for Wingdings, Frisk still has to work her regular job. She’s managed to get back into the swing of things, even taking a little more pride in her work as she grows to get to know the regular customers better. Apparently, her presence has been fantastic for business, and she’s been seeing a host of new faces over the last few days. A monster kid that goes by MK comes in with his parents every so often and asks her a ton of questions about being human. His parents seem to be grateful that she’s happy to talk to him early on in her shift, he’s quickly becoming her favourite regular if only because of the funny questions he asks. Tonight, he’s asked what the point of tennis is. Frisk isn’t really sure either, but she does her best to explain it.

The thing about knowing mob business is that it doesn’t ever leave her mind; she can turn it off for a few hours while she serves drinks or talks to customers, but it always hits her again. She can’t begin to understand all the intricate details of what’s going on, but she knows that innocent people are being held unfairly, and that she can’t stand around doing nothing. Wings has been coming over more frequently to discuss things with Sans and Papyrus, and she catches bits of conversation here and there; they’re going to intercept a truck going to the warehouses and see if they can learn anything from there. There’s also the issue of Frisk’s distaste for weaponry: Wings has made it clear that if she’s going to be involved, she has to at least be proficient with a gun.

That evening, replacing her regular dance lesson with Sans, is shooting practice. She’s not pleased about it, but she’ll concede where she has to. If this is what it takes to get her parents back, it’s easier to ask them for forgiveness than permission. She can’t imagine that conversation going particularly well.

The brothers have balanced all kinds of things in the basement for her to aim at. She’s been given a few different kinds of guns too, from the Thompson to a small handgun. The first time she shoots, she’s shaking and manages to miss entirely instead making a neat hole in the wall. The apple she meant to shoot at still sits perfectly whole. Papyrus is laughing at her, and her apparent inability to shoot a gun properly. She’s seen enough of them, she knows how they work, but aiming is much more difficult than it’s made to look.

Frisk spends about ten minutes trying to bargain with Papyrus about whether or not she really needs to learn this particular skill. Surely she’s more useful doing more of the covert-based operations; listening in, taking notes, talking to people to get information out of them.

“TINY HUMAN LADY, YOU MUST FOCUS ON THE TASK AT HAND. IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO DEFEND YOURSELF IN FUTURE. IT IS ALSO PARAMOUNT THAT YOU HAVE THE ADVANTAGE, SHOULD WE ENCOUNTER YOUR BROTHER ONCE MORE.”

The voice of her father is echoing in her head; how he always told her that it’s important to know how to protect oneself. As a young lady living alone, she’s been vigilant about the less outwardly violent ways of doing this. Keys in between the fingers clenched into a fist, how to quickly escape if a man were to try and kidnap her with a swift elbow to the stomach. This is a different beast, somehow holding the gun makes the situation more real to her. She has no way of knowing how this will turn out, whether her father will even want anything to do with her after what she’s done to get to the bottom of this. Still, there’s a task at hand. She doubts Papyrus will let her sleep until she’s at least gotten one bullet through a can.

Two hours later and she finally has a decent idea of how to aim. She’s by no means perfect, and she’s definitely slow, but it’s getting easier to predict exactly where a bullet will go. She feels somewhat disgusted in herself for being pleased that she’s getting the hang of shooting. Violence has plagued her everyday life for so long, and she’s becoming a part of it. While she isn’t religious, should she fail to save her parents she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to redeem herself. She hopes that she won’t ever have to shoot a living thing.

“YOU HAVE DONE ENOUGH FOR TONIGHT, TINY HUMAN LADY. PLEASE GET SOME REST.”

Settling down to sleep is a difficult task. She lays in the bath for what feels like hours, but no amount of rose-scented soap can scrub away the guilt she feels. She can’t even pretend that she’s completely innocent in all of this. The thought of her parents finding out about all of this makes her sick to her stomach, either with guilt or anxiety. Up until now, it’s been fairly simple for her to chalk everything as things that have happened to her rather than something she’s had an active role in. It’s now impossible for her to deny how directly involved in everything she’s become, despite how much her father always told her that she’s better than this. It turns out that, frankly, she isn’t better than this.

Of course, sometimes good people must do bad things in order to help others, however the ends don’t always justify the means. Is it wrong to become involved with one criminal organisation in order to prevent another from reigning terror on those she cares about? The morality here is, at best, a grey area. She wishes that it could be different, ponders on the other choices she could have made in order to avoid this outcome. Had she continued living with her parents, she wouldn’t be in this situation. She can’t guarantee that they would have been safe had she stayed home, but perhaps she could have done something.

The water is growing colder, but Frisk can’t find the motivation to move. If she sees this through to the end, perhaps the Bones will allow her to go free with her parents. Still, she can’t deny that she feels something for Sans. It would be outrageous to pretend that there isn’t something about him which intrigues her, be it his kindness or how special he makes her feel. There are two parts of her fighting, the side that just wants life to go back to normal, and the side that wouldn’t know what to do with normality anymore. Tired, she eventually gets herself to bed. It’s late, she’s tired, and even the anguish she feels can’t keep her eyes open anymore.


	23. Recklessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no post, my semester's started back up again so it's pretty much impossible to update super frequently as classes start up and I have to study, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The days are beginning to meld together, no day looking any different to another. Wake up, work, shoot, sleep. The only respite Frisk has is the conversations she has with the new regulars at work. MK and his family seem incredibly interested in how she lives; particularly the food. Human food is apparently much different to monster food, it fills you with food instantly rather than the long and arduous process that human food takes going through the body. Frisk thinks that perhaps that’s what Sans fed her whilst she was recovering.

Even Grillby has noticed that she’s been feeling down recently. He asks her how she is almost every hour on shift, her only response is to smile and nod. She really has nothing to complain about, except that she rarely sees the light of day anymore with how hard Papyrus has been working her over the past however long. She’s been getting better at shooting, hitting more shots than she misses on unmoving targets. She feels disgusting after every bullet, even though she isn’t shooting a single living thing. The idea that she will one day have to makes her want to vomit. She tries not to think about it whilst she’s working, the customers don’t deserve her bad mood.

The only thing that separates her days is the light trickle of information she gets every few evenings. Apparently, a few kidnappings have helped them gain more information on the people being held against their will, including her parents. This would give her a faint glimmer of hope, if she didn’t know how that information was attained. Still, she needs to keep her head up if and stay focussed on the task at hand, or she’ll lose the will to continue the fight. Regardless of the outcome, she must do all she can to save her parents. Even if she won’t be able to look them in the eye again, she won’t stop at anything to get them back.

Over the course of four days, the brothers hear news of a wagon going to the warehouses on Thursday night. Frisk is in the room for that conversation, but she doesn’t feel entirely present until Sans snaps his fingers in front of her face.

“Dollface, c’mon. We need ya to focus, we need all the help we can get in freein’ those people. Ya hear?” He looks worried more than anything.

Papyrus seems like he’s becoming impatient with her idleness, “YES TINY HUMAN LADY, YOU MUST STAY ON TASK. YOU ARE OUR BARGAINING CHIP IN ORDER TO GET THEM TO TRUST US, AS I’M SURE YOU’RE AWARE OTHER HUMANS DO NOT TAKE SO KINDLY TO MONSTERS.”

Neither of them are wrong, but it’s difficult to truly take in all the information she’s receiving. Something about going somewhere on Thursday night, her needing to be there so skipping work, and a plan. A plan that she only vaguely understands as it’s spoken to her, but the kinks can be worked out after she’s had a few hours of sleep. She’ll ask Sans to go over it again with her later, but for now she feels too exhausted to truly connect with what is happening.

The evening takes too long to wind down. Even when Wings leaves, it’s impossible to escape Papyrus constantly nagging her to practice shooting more. It almost becomes too much for her to keep her composure, but a glare at Sans convinces him to calm his brother down and allow her to take respite for the evening. He gives her another worried look before she heads upstairs, sliding into bed and doing her best to sleep.

As the hours pass, Frisk still cannot sleep. She begins pacing around the room, trying to snap back to her regular self. Her head is spinning between trying to remember the plan and trying to justify what she’s doing.

It’s impossible to tell how long it’s been since she started pacing, but she hears a gentle knock at the door. Sans’ head pokes around the door, somehow managing to look even paler than usual. He smells like whiskey, even from across the room. The look on his face makes Frisk break from her pacing, and she stares at him. It feels like she’s looking at the scene in third person, seeing herself cold and disengaged, across from Sans drunk and sick with worry.

“Frisk, what’s wrong?” His hands are shaking somewhat.

She feels like a ghost. She can’t put exactly what she wants to say into words, her feelings are too jumbled up to do so. It aches deep in her chest, like she’s being split in half. The pulling sensation carries a pain more physical than she thought possible from mere emotions. She watches her own face curl into gritted teeth, nearly a snarl. Sans seems taken aback by this, slowly walking towards her. His hands are in front of him, like he’s scared she’s going to hurt him. This is the first time she can say that Sans has ever truly looked frightened.

“Ya gotta tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help if ya don’t,” As he gets closer, Frisk tenses up. She isn’t sure why. “Is it somethin’ ‘bout the mission? Did we do somethin’ wrong by ya?”

No, it’s none of that. She can’t imagine Sans doing wrong by her any day, and she can’t even remember the plan to begin with. It’s something else.

She feels like a third-degree burn, all of her emotions are so burnt out that she can barely feel them anymore. There’s adrenaline pulsing through her that’s going to kill her if she doesn’t do something. It’s a flash and she’s got Sans by the wrists in a tight grip, her fingernails digging against his bones. In that same moment, she’s back in the moment properly, staring Sans dead in the eye sockets. Her breathing is heavy, and she’s walking Sans back towards the wall.

She doesn’t push him hard to hurt, but she definitely has his attention. Her fingers wander up to his shoulders, lightly pressing him against the wall. She knocks her forehead lightly against his chin, then staring up at him. Pulling him down by the collar, she kisses him with tears burning her eyes. When did she start shaking too?

The yelp that leaves Sans’ mouth can only be described as a surprised one. Awkward fingers reach Frisk’s waist. He tastes of cigarettes and liquor, which is to be expected. He doesn’t look upset at her actions, but there is still a sadness in his gaze. One of his hands reaches up to cup her cheek, and he gives a smile.

“Hey there, dollface. What’cha think ya doin’?” He seems to have perked up at least a little, that fear is gone from his eyes.

She tries to go in for another kiss, but he just tuts at her and holds her chin tightly enough that she can’t break free. A brief whine escapes her lips. She glares at him, pulling at his shirt to try and drag him down to her. When this fails, she just meekly tugs a few more times and makes big eyes at Sans. She’s still all welled up, tears threatening to spill over, but the adrenaline is still there. It makes her want to take all she can and leave no prisoners.

Sans takes a deep breath, and shakes his head, “No. We ain’t doin’ this when you’re in a state like this.”

He wraps his arms around her tightly, and just holds her for a little while. She doesn’t really know what to do with her hands, every ounce of her wants to just tug and tear until she gets what she wants, but she knows the answer is no. It takes a few minutes, but the adrenaline fades and she is left feeling like lead.

They move from the wall to the bed, and Sans listens while she pours her heart out. She doesn’t know if it makes much sense to him, but she’s doing her best to explain the conflict she’s had brewing up inside her. How she feels so confused about where she stands, whether or not she’s doing the right thing, whether or not her father would even speak to her if he knew what she’s doing. It doesn’t bring out tears, but it does lift some of the weight she’s been carrying.

“Listen. If after all this is over, ya don’t ever wanna look me or my brothers in the face again, I understand. Ya got family, ‘nd they feel certain types’a ways about what I do. I’m willin’ to do whatever makes ya happiest, alright?” Sans lays down and offers her that place right on his chest she’s become quite accustomed to, “As long as ya know that, try not to worry too much about what happens when everything’s said ‘nd done. Just try ‘nd put ya’self first sometimes, ya hear? Ain’t worth settin’ ya’self on fire just to keep somebody else warm.”


	24. Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Me again! Swear I haven't died during my brief absence! I've had some lovely comments in the past about my writing being worth waiting for, still I feel the need to apologise to the long breaks between chapters (maybe I set myself up for failure when I posted daily over summer?). I'll endeavour to get a chapter out every week, but I'm currently battling the mere concept of university so that may not always be doable. I do hope to have this finished by the years' end though! I'm so grateful for the comments I've received on this so far (even if I don't reply, I promise I read them!), being able to see that people actually enjoy my writing has really made me fall in love with it again, so don't expect this to be my last Undertale fic (although I've been reading quite a few fantastic ones recently, and I'm not sure I can really top them.) Again, thanks so much for waiting/reading this! It's been a blast so far!

Wings’ plan is simple: Intercept the next truckload of people being taken to the warehouses. The execution, however, will take a certain amount of finesse. It’s not like they can just wander around there and wait, since it’s likely that they’ll be as welcome as a dogshit on a white carpet. They’ll also need to commandeer the truck, which could go very poorly if done wrong. Either way, they have to be careful to pull this off.

Frisk is standing in the dark, waiting for the truck to pass. She can’t tell how long it’s been, but she knows that as long as her part goes off well, the rest will follow smoothly – in theory. Sans and Papyrus are waiting in the wings for the signal, she’s got a pistol in her pocket. All of this really doesn’t reflect well on her, but it’s the best idea any of them had before their imminent deadline. Nobody will come out this particularly rosy if it goes wrong.

The black truck is coming down the street. As it comes closer, Frisk walks into the middle of the street, hoping that it slows to a stop before it can hit her. It does, maybe half a foot in front of her – the street is too narrow to go around, which is where Sans comes in. He pulls open the truck door, sauntering in like it’s nobody’s business. She can’t hear what they’re saying inside, but the guy driving is at least twice the size of Sans and three times the size of her. Still, she follows in after him while the driver is distracted.

Pulling the gun out feels alien, she’s not entirely sure she’s pulling it off. She’s never really been intimidating, even less so in her current state. That tasteless haze is still on the tip of her tongue, and she really needs a cigarette. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to help, it’s that she doesn’t feel at all herself. Instead of truly focussing on anything in particular, she’s going through her planned-out script as best as she can. Maybe this is how people get comfortable with hurting each other, if you distance yourself from everything then nothing feels inherently moral or immoral. Or, maybe she needs to get out of her head for ten minutes and get a job done.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir. My apologies.” The gun is pointed directly at him, and Frisk feels nothing, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Sans looks almost impressed at her for a second. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t be able to keep her cool, but nobody counted on her emotionally shutting herself from the whole world for a few days. The driver doesn’t look as impressed at her, although he seems to be intimidated by a mixture of the gun and the skeleton standing behind him. Either way, whatever they’re doing seems to be working pretty well.

It only takes fifteen minutes for him to decide that this isn’t worth the holdup, and he gives up. It’s surprising that he goes down without much of a fight, but he probably doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this – Frisk knows the feeling. She almost feels bad for him, but considering where he’s taking this truckload of people, that sympathy doesn’t last particularly long.

Sans is the only one of the two of them that can drive, so he takes the wheel. Papyrus joins shortly after, spouting his praises to her. He’s decided that she couldn’t have done it without the Great Papyrus’ training. It makes her feel a little more human after all of that.

She’s learning to control it now, at least she thinks so. Sans explained that the more violent somebody is, the more they can distance themselves from the hurt they cause. She can’t argue with that logic, after seeing what the gangs have done to this city. Some humans even have the cheek to blame monsters for this when this was clearly an issue long beforehand. It’s not something Frisk can truly understand, but sometimes people need somebody they can blame. Monsters are an easy target for that since they look so different. When you actually sit down with them, monsters aren’t so different (in her experience, they’re much kinder than humans as a general rule), but it’s easy to get intimidated by them if you aren’t used to them.

It’s her job to explain the situation to the people they’ve rescued. She does her best, and most of them seem pretty grateful. She would be too, in their situation. A previously empty apartment block is put to good use, guarded carefully by a variety of dogs. Some of the humans are somewhat hesitant at the idea, but their alternative is substantially worse so they’ll take what they can get. Wingdings himself even goes door-to-door making sure that the thirty new residents are comfortable in their new abodes. The two younger brothers go around soon after, with basic essentials – food and hygiene products. Nothing fancy, but better than would be given in a storage container, that’s for sure.

Somehow, Ebott City feels brighter the next day. A first proper step towards Frisk’s final goal snaps her back to the real world for a few hours, she’s laughing and working like normal, and then coming home to either a dance lesson or Wingdings outlining new plans. It’s like her soul caught on that something good is happening for once. Papyrus has even stopped hounding her about learning to shoot, seemingly satisfied with her progress for now. She didn’t even shoot the thing, and he’s allowed her to reduce her “training time” to once a week. Of course, she still dreads those nights, and always comes away feeling like she’s stuck between worlds, but it doesn’t last as long.

Everybody around her seems to have noticed that she’s got her colour back, at least most of the time. Nobody more so than Sans, who’s been keeping a fairly close eye on her since the first time she faded. He does admit to telling Papyrus to tone it down, and it’s something she’s grateful for.

While intercepting trucks doesn’t become a weekly occurrence, it is a regular one. Knowing that she doesn’t actually have to shoot anybody to look intimidating with a gun helps, knowing that her boys are behind her if anything goes wrong does too. What helps most, though, is seeing the relief on the faces of the saved when they are brought to a home with a bed. They don’t tell her if they knew where they were going or not, but it’s common knowledge that being hauled into a truck in the early hours of the morning is never a good sign.

It’s the parents that make her the happiest – those who find their children after a week or so of not knowing where they went, or vice-versa. It gives her hope that this is all leading up to her reuniting with her own parents. Still, she’s growing impatient; she knows that situations like these must be treated with delicacy, but she has no idea what’s happening to them right now. What would stop her from going in herself, on a covert operation just to retrieve them?

Well, a number of things. Common sense, for one. It would be a suicide mission to go in there on her own, and then her parents would have only lost both of their children to organised crime. It doesn’t stop her from daydreaming about the moment she sees them again, the happy tears she will cry when they’re both safe and sound.

Her father’s reaction still remains to be seen, but she can push it aside for now, and simply allow herself to feel hope.


End file.
